Less Than Lucky
by KezzaG
Summary: So much of the outcome of the Jack Hyde incident in Fifty Shades Freed was based on sheer luck. What if things hadn't lined up so happily for the Greys in the end? No pretty bow to wrap up the end of the trilogy in this alternate ending about loss, hope, and rebuilding after tragedy.
1. A Change in Fate

This story begins in _Fifty Shades Freed_, chapter 22. There is a bit of lead-in from the original book to help orient you. **The horizontal rule is the start of my original content.**

_Note: I know this is a super-short chapter, but I start changing the story at the VERY END of this chapter in the book and I didn't want to reprint too much of the book. This is the only non-original content in the story!_

* * *

Chapter 22

* * *

"Get out," Elizabeth snaps, yanking the rear passenger door open.

Shit. As I clamber out, my legs are shaking so hard I wonder if I can stand. The cool late afternoon breeze carries the scent of the coming fall and the chalky, dusty smell of derelict buildings.

"Well, lookee here." Jack emerges from a small, boarded-up doorway on the left of the building. His hair is short. He's removed his earrings and he's wearing a suit. _A suit?_ He ambles toward me, oozing arrogance and hate. My heart rate spikes.

"Where's Mia?" I stammer, my mouth so dry I can hardly form the words.

"First things first, bitch," Jack sneers, coming to a halt in front of me. I can practically taste his contempt. "The money?"

Elizabeth is checking the bags in the trunk. "There's a hell of a lot of cash here," she says in awe, zipping and unzipping each bag.

"And her cell?"

"In the trash."

"Good," Jack snarls, and from nowhere he lashes out, backhanding me hard across the face. The ferocious, unprovoked blow knocks me to the ground, and my head bounces with a sickening thud off the concrete. Pain explodes in my head, my eyes fill with tears, and my vision blurs as the shock of the impact resonates, unleashing agony that pulses through my skull.

I scream a silent cry of suffering and shocked terror. Oh no — _Little Blip_. Jack follows through with a swift, vicious kick to my ribs, and my breath is blasted from my lungs by the force of the blow. Scrunching my eyes tightly, I try to fight the nausea and pain, to fight for a precious breath. _Little Blip, Little Blip, oh my Little Blip _—

"That's for SIP, you fucking bitch!" Jack screams.

I pull my legs up, huddling into a ball and anticipating the next blow. _No. No. No._

"Jack!" Elizabeth screeches. "Not here. Not in broad daylight for fuck's sake!"

He pauses.

"The bitch deserves it!" he gloats to Elizabeth. And it gives me one precious second to reach around and pull the gun from the waistband of my jeans. Shakily, I aim at him, squeeze the trigger, and fire.

* * *

"Jesus!" I hear Elizabeth hazily.

I blink. Did it connect? Did I hit him? I guess not, he's advancing on me. I fire a second shot, and another, this one grazes his leg and he winces, slowing momentarily.

Elizabeth is screaming, or is it me. I can't see anymore, my vision is black and everything I feel is pain. I can't hear the screams. There's no sense anymore except the pain, so I let myself drift towards oblivion.


	2. Questions

Chapter 23

* * *

All I hear around me is mechanical, electronic. Whirring, beeping... But then I hear so faintly, so tiny — I hear weeping. What could that be? I can't feel anything to know where I am, what's happened. The weeping is so soft and hopeless. It fills me with so much sadness, I retreat from it. I drift back into my nothingness — It can't possibly be worse than this weeping.

* * *

Slowly, I feel as if I'm floating towards consciousness. I hear the whirring, the beeping... then voices. Christian's voice. I try to reach out for him, but I can't move my arms. I can't feel my arms.

"Just do it again!" He's so angry, so furious, but I sense a complete lack of hope. He was the one weeping before. It seems so long ago, did it really happen?

"Mr. Grey, I'm sorry, but the test is conclusive. Your wife has lost the baby," I hear in reply.

Little Blip! How could this be? No. No. No. No!

Christian is sobbing, "Please! Please. Just do it again. I can't..." He's pleading with the doctor. But, he didn't want this baby, did he?

The doctor sighs. "I can do it again, Mr. Grey, but it won't be any different. There's no heartbeat."

"Just come back to me, Anastasia. Come back. I can't do this without you. Come back to me."

Oh, I so want to hold him and make it better, but I can't face this. I need my blip. Blip. Where's my Blip?

I search inside myself for Little Blip, leaving Christian on his own again.

* * *

All I feel is devastation. Everything about me is pain — my body, my head, my emotions, my memories. There's nothing there. There's no Blip. There's nothing.

No more weeping. But I can still sense Christian's pain. There's that. I want to make it better. I want to tell him it will be alright. But that's just it — it won't be.

I hear Grace's voice. "Christian, you should get some rest. There's nothing you can do right now," she says.

"Just go." I have never heard Christian so cold, so empty. I can feel him squeezing my hand. His voice is muffled, like he's speaking into the blanket.

"Christian," she pleads.

"Go. I can't... I can't leave her."

There's a long pause. I hear her kiss him and then her footsteps as she leaves.

"Ana, I love you. Don't leave me."

I struggle to stay with him but feel myself tugged back into the black.

* * *

I blink. Everything is white. Too white. I can't see anything but brightness and it's overwhelming my eyes. I close them hard, hoping the light might fade with a few second's time.

Tentatively, I open my eyes again, and slowly, they begin to adjust. Everything is definitely bright, white, and shiny, but not nearly as painful to look at as it was. I go to turn my head but find that to be so tender that I nearly scream in pain, which draws my attention to the tube in my throat. I start to panic. The beeping and the whirring are so loud, so fast. My breath becomes hurried and I try to grab at it, to pull it out, but I can't move one of my arms. I hear footsteps running toward me and a nurse, all in white grabs my flailing arm and holds it down. She's trying to calm me down, but I'm in full freak-out mode and can't stop.

Suddenly, Christian's face enters my view and I instantly relax. He's been holding my hand — I can feel that now — and he is gently stroking my cheek, whispering to me, "I'm here. I'm here."

I whimper and feel tears prick my eyes. I'm so overwhelmed by sensation and emotion and I can see clearly that he's been crying. He has a beard and looks like he's aged about three years.

"I love you, baby. Thank you for coming back to me."

I half-remember him calling for me, but it's a quickly-fading dream and as much as I try to grasp onto it, it slips through my fingers. I'm so happy to see him.

The nurse releases me and I try to lift my now-free arm to touch him, but it is so painful and I feel so weak. Christian registers my distress and turns to the nurse, "Can we take this tube out? I think she's trying to say something."

"I'll go get the doctor," she says and runs out the door.

I furrow my eyebrows and Christian takes my other hand in his. He runs his thumbs over my knuckles and kisses my nose very gently. It feels bizarre, like he didn't really touch me and I probe my mind to do a system's check on how my body feels. My entire face feels horrendous, my throat feels so full and painful, like I haven't had a drink of water in months. Each breath brings a dull pain to my left side and a sharp one to my right, below my breast. I can't wiggle my left leg and look down to see it's in a cast up to my thigh. My right leg seems relatively fine, though my hip feels horribly bruised. But it's my stomach — my stomach feels the worst. It feels so empty. The word _barren_ comes to mine and I can feel the tears streaming down my face in earnest.

Christian just holds my hands, looking into my eyes, and smiles the saddest smile I've ever seen. My heart breaks and I want to kiss him so badly.

The doctor walks in with a big smile. He's a short, middle-aged bald man, and seems like the sort of doctor I'd imagine on a medical drama — a trustworthy-looking man.

"Glad to see you awake, Mrs. Grey," he says. He looks at my chart and at the monitors strewn around my bed before smiling again at me. "I bet you're ready to have that tube out of your throat."

I nod slowly, careful not to move to suddenly. Surprisingly, I find it doesn't hurt much.

"Alright, on the count of three I want you to take a deep breath and then cough for as long as you can. It's going to be very uncomfortable, but you'll feel better in just a moment." He moves around to my left side and puts a gloved hand on the tube coming out of my mouth. Christian squeezes my hand for reassurance. "One, two, three... cough!"

He was right, it's very uncomfortable, but he pulls the tube out quickly and the nurse hands me a cup of water, which I take greedily and gulp. The cold water is soothing on my throat.

"You did great." Christian smiles at me and then at the doctor.

"I'm Dr. Crumfeld, Mrs. Grey. I'm going to ask you a few questions. Be very gentle as you try to speak. You can keep your answers to one or two words, okay?" I nod. I smile at Christian, who looks encouragingly at me. He still looks so sad, it makes me want to cry again.

"Do you know where you are, Mrs. Grey?" the doctor asks.

"Hospital," I croak. He smiles.

"Yes, very good. Do you remember what happened?"

This is a harder question. I can't quite reach my memory yet and then it snaps back into place. My eyebrows shoot up and I turn to Christian, "Mia! Did you find..." I start coughing and the nurse hands me my water cup again.

Christian nods, "Don't worry, we found her. She's safe." He smiles that sweet, sad smile again. I know something isn't right.

The doctor tries to get my attention again. "Mrs Grey, please try to focus on these questions. They're very important. Do you remember what happened?"

I nod slowly, but I can't remember everything clearly, so I stop. "Not every..." I stop before I have another coughing fit. Christian strokes my hair with strong hands and I calm. "Not everything. It's blurry," I say slowly.

The doctor gets a serious look and makes a note on my chart. "What's the last thing you remember, Mrs. Grey?"

I think. There was the car ride with Elizabeth... and then...

"Jack Hyde! It was Jack Hyde!" I screech. I sound like a banshee. I look over to Christian and his nostrils flare. He is so beyond pissed. He looks antsy to do something, but stays put. I'm sure it's to comfort me.

The doctor turns to the nurse and asks her to go get Detective Clark. She hurries out of the room and I look at Christian again, puzzled.

"But, I shot him," I say. How do they not know it was Jack Hyde?

Christian frowns and it makes me so sad. "You didn't shoot him, Ana." He looks at our hands. Something is wrong. He begins to cry.

I look to the doctor for answers, but he just looks back at me grimly. "Let's get back to these questions, shall we? Do you know today's date?"

I think. Mia was taken September 15. I look at my husband's beard and I realize that I have not a clue how much time has passed. I shake my head at the doctor. "No, I don't."

He frowns and makes a note. "It's September 26."

Jeez! I've been out for eleven days?! I can't believe it. Christian's sobs are audible now and I can see he's become a ghost of himself waiting for me to wake up. I touch his face gently and wince as I lift my arm. I want to hold him, but that is definitely not going to happen soon.

"Oh Christian," I say. He looks up at me, desperate.

"I'm glad you're awake, Mrs. Grey," Detective Clark says as he walks through the doorway to my room. "I have some questions for you."

Why does it seem like everyone has questions for me but nobody has answers for me?


	3. Answers

_Thanks for reading — I know this is really depressing so far, but I swear it'll get better soon. In the first day, I managed to write three chapters, so I thought I'd share them all with you right off the bat. I'm going to try to update at least weekly with a couple chapters at a time._

_Anyone interested in being my beta should PM me, please!_

_Let me know what you'd like to happen in the reviews. I haven't written any fanfiction since high school and it's a bit daunting, especially considering how much is out there that's spectacular already._

* * *

Chapter 24

* * *

Christian jumps to his feet, never letting go of my hand. "She needs to rest, can't this wait?" he roars. Talk about mercurial. What a mood shift.

Detective Clark ignores him, coming around to the other side of my bed and pushing the doctor out of the way. "No, it can't, Mr. Grey." He is all business and I can clearly see that he hasn't slept in days. "Mrs. Grey, I need you to tell me what you remember about your attacker."

I blink back at him. I look over to Christian, who is fuming. I can practically smell the smoke coming out of his ears. I squeeze his hand and he looks down at me. "It's okay, Christian," I say and he quells slightly. Turning back to the detective, I say, "It was Jack Hyde, my old boss at SIP. Elizabeth Morgan was working with him, but I think he was blackmailing her or something."

Clark looks at Christian and their eyes meet. There's some information passing between them and I have no idea what it is. This whole being out of the loop thing is getting irritating quickly.

"Will someone _please_ tell me what the hell is going on?" I croak. I had intended to yell but I sound more like a toad than anything else.

And that's it. The doctor, the detective, the husband: they all look at me with pity.

Christian sits down slowly and his tears pour down his face in parallel rivers on his cheeks. I feel them drip onto my skin as he lifts my had to his mouth and kisses it.

"You were beaten very badly, Ana." I try to smile. _Oh God, does it hurt to do that!_

"I know that much. I can feel it, Christian."

"Well, you hit your head very hard and so they think your vision wasn't very good when you fired the gun. You didn't hit Jack."

No. No, that's not right, I remember him stumbling. I hit him with the third bullet.

Christian answers my unasked question, "The first bullet hit Elizabeth in the chest. She died on the way to the hospital. The third bullet wound up lodged in a brick wall." He stops.

My fear is really getting the best of me. What happened to the second bullet?

Christian's tears are flowing freely and I stop breathing.

"The second one hit Mia."

My thoughts start spiraling. My vision greys and I feel dizzy. I can feel my grip on consciousness slipping and I give up.

* * *

I wake up to screaming. I'm so scared and confused that I don't realize at first that it's me who's screaming. Christian comes running in from the hallway, a look of total distress etching his features.

"Baby, I'm here. It's okay. It's okay. I'm here." He cradles me in his arms and I calm. I'm shaking all over. He kisses my forehead and rocks me back and forth and I close my eyes, inhaling his scent. I am vaguely aware of a nurse or a doctor checking my tubes, my monitors, my chart, but I don't care. All that matters in my world is that Christian's presence, reassuring me.

He looks down at me, concerned, and I nod to let him know I'm better. He helps me sit up in bed. I am feeling slightly less sore and suddenly am famished. I feel like I haven't eaten in weeks — I realize I probably haven't.

"I'm hungry," I say and I watch as a huge smile spreads across Christian's face.

Without taking his eyes off me, he grabs his phone and hits a speed dial. "Taylor, yes, can you go by Escala and have Mrs. Jones prepare some broth and toast for Mrs. Grey?" He hangs up without waiting for a reply.

I finally take a moment to look around the room. Humongous bouquets of flowers fill every horizontal surface I can see. There's a giant Charlie Tango balloon at the foot of my bed and I grin. Looking at the foot of my bed, I notice that my left leg, the one in the cast, is in traction, elevated above my hip which would explain why I couldn't move at all earlier when I tried. My upper abdomen itches and I move my hand across my torso to discover bandages underneath my hospital gown. My eyebrows furrow as I'm trying to understand what has happened. I look to Christian for answers.

"They had to take out your spleen," he whispers. I can tell he's right on the edge of sobbing as his expressions softens and saddens. "There was a lot of damage to your lungs, and one of your kidneys, too, but they're hoping that heals on its own." He's barely holding it together so I smile to reassure him. It must not be a very convincing smile because his breath hitches as he tries to compose himself. "You have three broken ribs, a broken femur, dislocated hip, and a pelvic fracture." He looks so desperate and it's making me so worried. Something — something important. I'm trying to remember what was so important but my brain is hazy and I can't quite get ahead of the conversation. "You had a concussion when they brought you in so they induced a coma so your body could heal and the swelling around your brain could go down safely. Your nose is broken, as is your left cheekbone, and there's a small hairline fracture near the base of your head." He's really trying to hold it together and I guess my scared and awed expression isn't helping him do that.

"What about..." _Damn, what was it I had to ask him about_. I stop and think really hard. It's almost like it hurts to think this hard. I give up for a moment and take a deep breath.

"They've got you on some pretty strong painkillers and sedatives. The doctors don't want you getting as upset as you did earlier because they're worried the stress will hurt your recovery, so you may have trouble thinking straight for a while."

I nod. I was so clear before. And this was so important... What was it?

Christian closes his eyes and puts his hand at the bottom of my stomach, spreading his hand wide. He leans over and kisses me there, sending an electric spark to my brain. _Blip!_

"The baby?" I can barely form the words as I feel my heart jump into my throat.

He lays his head on my abdomen and totally loses any control he had over his expression, tears streaming onto my tummy as his face distorts in pain.

"I'm so sorry, Ana," he whispers. He sits up and pulls my body against to his, sobbing. I hear myself wail and I beat my arms on his shoulders with what little strength I have. He doesn't flinch and just grips me gently.

"I'm so sorry, Ana. I'm so sorry," he whispers in my ear over and over again. I eventually run out of steam entirely and just fall asleep in his arms.

* * *

I wake the next day feeling numb. None of the pain is reaching my brain anymore and all I feel is a profound sense of loss. I touch my stomach and cry. I'm alone and glad for it. Christian didn't want this baby and now he has his wish. I can't help but feel bitter resentment that he was so cruel and didn't love it before my Little Blip disappeared.

Looking up, I see Grace watching me, unreadable by the door. I try to perk myself up, and I'm sure she sees the effort because she walks in and sits next to my bed.

We sit in comfortable silence for a while, both crying softly. I'm mourning the loss of the child I didn't even have yet. She's worried about her own daughter, surely.

Finally, I wipe my eyes and speak with my tiny, unstable voice, "How is Mia?" I realize I'm terrified what I might have done to her and a sense of intense guilt washes over me. My idiocy put Mia, Blip, and me in incredible danger. How could I have taken that kind of a risk?

Grace gives me a weak smile, "She's awake and doing a lot better. Christian's with her now. They're going to take her off the respirator this evening and if she breathes on her own, that's a really good sign." She gauges my reaction for a moment. "Thank you, Anastasia."

I blanch. _Why is she thanking me?_ I wonder. I shot her daughter.

"You were so brave and you saved my daughter. I can never repay you for that," she says quietly, wringing her hands. "And you took such a personal risk for it, such a loss." She looks up and grasps my hand. "I'm sorry about the baby, Ana."

I can't keep myself together and the waterworks start again.

"But, I shot her! I am so sorry, Grace. You have to forgive me," I sob.

She pulls me into a soft embrace, stroking my face. "Don't you worry about that. If she wasn't found when she was, Lord knows what would have happened. She already had terrible injuries before the shot. If you hadn't gone to rescue her, she would probably be dead."

I still my breathing and sit back. Maybe Grace can give me some answers. I'm so desperate for information.

"Can I ask you about what happened? No one will tell me straight."

"Of course, dear," she sighs. Maybe she feels steeled with a sense of purpose, but she does seem more stable and calmer as she adjusts herself in the chair and starts to explain.

"You fired the gun three times: the first got Elizabeth Morgan in the chest and she died; the second hit Mia in the abdomen, damaging her right lung, but missing all her other organs; and the third missed and hit a wall. Jack Hyde then took the gun, beat you further, and made a getaway in the car. Sawyer, Taylor, and Christian found you a few minutes later while the police were working on tracking the cell phone you'd left in one of the bags, but Hyde found it a few blocks away and tossed it. He made a fairly clean escape."

I can feel the panic rising in my chest — he's still out there! What if he comes back to finish what he started?

Grace can see my agitation and takes my hand in hers for reassurance. "Seattle PD has posted cops all over the hospital, including outside your and Mia's doors. You're safe. He can't get to you now." She smiles. "If you hadn't woken up when you did, the police wouldn't know who they were looking for until they realized he'd skipped bail.

I smile back her but there's no conviction in it.

"You're job now is to recuperate. You have to heal up nice and quickly so Christian doesn't have a coronary from the stress," she says, smiling. "I really can't thank you enough for everything you've done for this family. You've saved my daughter, you've given my son his life back. You're an angel from heaven."

She stands up, planting a loving kiss on the top of my head.

"He hasn't left your bedside in two weeks. He's been so worried about you."

I think about Christian and feel so confused. I love him so much but I loved Blip, too, and now that part of me, that part of Christian is gone. My hand automatically goes to that empty place.

"He is so happy you're okay, but he's devastated about losing the baby. I don't know that he'll ever forgive himself for not telling you he was happy about the baby." She starts to walk out, then stops and turns, "I don't know that _I'll_ ever forgive him for it, either, Ana." She smiles and leaves.


	4. Approval

_Okay, so I decided that since I got another chapter done tonight I'd just go ahead and post it — I can't hold these things to myself for long._

_Wow! What a response! Since I posted the first chapter just two hours ago, almost 100 people have read it and more than 10 people are following or have favorited it, so thank you. _

_I'd love for anyone who's willing to review. I really am eager to improve my writing and want to know your criticisms as well as your compliments. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

**Chapter 25**

* * *

Needless to say, I'm completely overwhelmed. I sit numbly, feeling empty, useless, helpless, and weak while nurses come and go checking my vitals, changing my IV bag, adjusting my medication, and all I can do is exist.

I wish I could just go back two weeks and redo the whole thing differently. Maybe Mia would be okay, I'd still be pregnant, and Jack Hyde would be in jail. Elizabeth would be alive.

It feels like I've lost all control over my life. I don't know the state of marriage.

I replay Grace's words in my head over and over. _I don't know that he'll ever forgive himself for not telling you he was happy about the baby_. Does that mean he changed his mind? He seemed ripped apart when he told me I'd lost my Little Blip, but I couldn't quite tell why.

Finally, I'm by myself in my gigantic hospital room. I'm sure Christian must have pulled some serious strings to get me what feels like a small condo to myself. I smile to myself — my husband is so protective. It must kill him that he wasn't able to protect me on this. Again, words echo in my head: _Was it always the money?_ I gasp at the pain that runs through my veins at the memory of his words. I can't reconcile the things he's said to me in the last few weeks — about the baby, about the money — with how I think of my beautiful husband.

As if his ears had been burning, I look up to see Christian taking his seat next to me.

"How's Mia?" I ask timidly.

He smiles gently at me. "She's doing a lot better. She's breathing on her own and it looks like she'll have a full recovery." I smile back at him. I can see that he's genuinely happy for the first time since I woke up. "And it's all thanks to you, Mrs. Grey."

I shake my head cautiously, careful not to rattle my brain, which starts to swim anyway. "I don't know how you can say that, Christian. I managed to shoot your sister," I hiccup. "I lost our baby." I screw my face up trying to hold back a sob.

Christian lifts my chin so my eyes meet his. "We can try again. We'll have a baby, Anastasia." He kisses my cheeks, sopping up the tears that have seeped out despite my best efforts. "I'm so sorry, Ana." I watch tears well up in his eyes. "I so wanted this baby — this part of you and me together — in our lives. I wish I had told you before."

And that does it, I'm hysterical. How can I have such a kind man in my life. I by no means deserve it.

Before I can react to what's happening, Christian has slipped his shoes off and climbed into the hospital bed with me, carefully maneuvering around my cables and tubes, and is holding me tenderly against his chest.

"If I had lost you, I would have died, Ana. I couldn't have lived with the things I said — I was horrible to you — and you could have died thinking I didn't trust you and that I didn't want this child. Can you ever forgive me?" he whispers in my ear and I can hear the genuine fear in his voice. He isn't sure I will forgive him.

I don't even have to think about it. "You're forgiven. Absolutely."

Christian beams down at me, his pure, happy smile tainted by our sadness at the circumstances.

We fall asleep in each other's arms, praying for happier times.

* * *

I wake to find Dr. Crumfeld and Grace in a hot discussion and Christian still wrapped around me. I smile and lift his hand from my chest to my mouth, kissing him as he begins to stir.

"Mom? Everything okay?" he says behind me as he wipes my hair out of the way and kisses the back of my neck, tickling me with his whiskers. Shivers run deliciously down my spine as he stretches and gets out of the bed.

"Dr. Crumfeld doesn't approve of the sleeping arrangements, Christian," she says seriously, and I giggle. Christian looks down at me, with a relieved look on his furry face.

"I love that sound," he murmurs. "Doctor, we both sleep better this way — what is the problem?"

Dr. Crumfeld all but folds under Christian's no-nonsense gaze and I know we've all but won this battle. "Hospital policy says," he begins before Christian's booming voice completely overpowers him.

"I think my family donates enough to this hospital for your ward to look the other way. Consider it therapy. Isn't that the way attachment parenting works? Who's to say it won't be effective on my wife?"

Dr. Crumfeld's chin flaps open and he stares at Christian for a moment too long before regaining his composure and clasping it back shut. "Fine, but no funny business." I giggle again. The poor doctor's face is as red as a Christmas ornament. He turns on me, "Mrs. Grey, you have a lot more healing to do before your body can handle intimate contact. You have to walk before you can run."

With that, he huffs out of the room and the three of us burst out laughing. I suddenly regret this as pain shoots around my abdomen and I cry out. Christian and Grace are immediately at my side, fussing and fretting. I smile weakly at them and they relax.

"I guess he's right after all," I say.

* * *

"Yeah, I'm feeling a lot better, Mom. Don't worry too much," I say. I wish she could come visit me in the hospital, but at Ray's suggestion, I decide she should hold off until I'm on my feet — we can spend some real quality time together. Ray said he felt so helpless because seeing me so weak and injured just makes him want to take care of me, which he can't while I'm in the hospital. I don't want to spread that feeling around, so I figure I can hold out on seeing her and Bob.

"Just keep telling me you're fine and maybe I'll believe you eventually," she says. "Like maybe when you're home and healed." I smile.

It's been a week since I woke up and I really am starting to feel a lot better. I have a bit more energy and they've even approved me to eat solid foods — a blessing since I'm not doomed to eat hospital food while I'm here. I thank God that my husband can pull strings like a puppeteer and Mrs. Jones' cooking gets delivered three times a day by Taylor.

I say my goodbyes to my mother and Bob, both of whom are too emotional for me to handle right now.

I've decided on a policy of _delay, delay, delay_ on dealing with my issues. I can only solve one problem at a time so right now I'm focusing on the physical healing of my body. Christian's attachment husbandry is having a hugely positive effect on my outlook and my energy. We cuddle all night, leaving me feeling safe and rejuvenated. He is starting to be a bit peppier as well, even leaving to shower yesterday and today. _Thank goodness for that, too!_ He was really starting to smell and I'm ashamed to say I was embarrassed for him.

My lovely husband walks in carrying our lunch from Mrs. Jones — today is a chicken salad sandwich with sliced vegetables and lemonade. He's in a long-sleeved white linen button-down and a pair of dark jeans that hang off his hips in that way that makes me catch my breath. He's decided to keep the beard for a while, though trimmed neatly of course. When I told him it tickled when he kissed me, he smiled slyly and got a dark look in his eyes. "That gives me some ideas," he'd said._ Oh_, I get hot and bothered just thinking about it.

I devour my sandwich as he looks on approvingly. Since they've upgraded me to real food, I can't seem to get enough of it, which I guess is a good thing. I've been semi-mobile on my crutches for three days and the first time I passed a mirror I almost wiped out immediately. Beyond all the bruises and bandages, I had lost so much weight that I could see all the bones in my chest. It made me nauseous just looking at myself, but Christian was encouraging. "You're still beautiful, Mrs. Grey, but I prefer when there's more of you," he'd said.

I smile at the memory and my ultra-supportive husband leans over, carrot still in his mouth and gives me a quick peck on the lips.

"So, what shall we do today, Mrs. Grey?" he asks.

"I think you know what I'd _like_ to do, Mr. Grey," I start. "But I think Dr. Crumfeld wouldn't approve."

Christian glowers at me. "I wouldn't approve, either, Ana. You need to rest. Walk before you run, remember?"

"Well, in that case, I'd like to visit Mia if that's alright."

Christian hesitates. "Are you sure?" Not the reaction I'd expected.

"Yes, of course. She's only in the next hallway, I can do it." He can't meet my eyes. What is going on?

"She doesn't look so good, Ana," he says. "She's recovering well, but it's not pretty. I don't want it to upset you." He finally looks at me. "You're so fragile."

I had no idea. They made it sound like she'd be discharged any day, completely healed apart from a few emotional scars. "I can handle it," I say, decided. I need to know how bad it is.


	5. Absolution

___Now, I know I said I'd post once a week, but _I just can't stay away from this story. I'm really enjoying writing it and though I know it's moving really slowly so far, but the pace should be picking up soon. There's going to be at least three chapters going up tonight, so stay tuned.

_I'm completely floored by the response to this story, so thank you to everyone who's read, favorited, followed, and reviewed! To be honest, I was really bothered by the all-this-shit-went-down-but-there's-absolutely-no-negative-consequences approach E.L. James took, so I'm happy to be putting a new ending on the books. Please let me know if there's anything specifically you'd like to see or not see happen. I aim to please._

* * *

**Chapter 26**

* * *

I hobble. I don't walk, I don't limp. I hobble. It is a devastating reality, but I can't change anything about it. Sure, Christian has offered to carry me everywhere until I'm healed, but we both know I have to get into the habit of at least hobbling so that I have strength when I am finally healed.

So, I _hobble_ down the hallway towards Mia's room. Christian follows behind me by a couple feet. He does this because the very first day he hovered and I yelled at him that he was on the verge of smothering me. He took the hint but still stays close enough to catch me if I fall, which is incredibly reassuring.

"Turn left here, third door on the right," he says. Okay, it's reality time, here. I take a deep breath just before I reach the doorway and nod to the police officers stationed outside, preparing myself for whatever I might find inside.

I look to Christian for reassurance and hob the last hobble before stopping dead in my tracks.

I don't know what I'd expected — maybe a smiling, weak Mia with hair tousled just so, no makeup, and a bad headache? _I am so not ready for this._ Mia has one arm in traction, tubes coming out every which way, and her entire midsection is wrapped and wrapped in gauze. She looks barely more than a skeleton and I feel the tears building behind my eyes.

"Breathe," Christian whispers in my ear, putting his hands on my shoulders, steadying me. I gasp for air, not realizing I'd been holding my breath. The sound grabs Mia's attention and she turns her head painfully to look at us. Her mood changes immediately and I can see she's genuinely pleased we've come to visit. I see concern etch her face but she keeps that smile plastered on, god bless her.

I look at Christian meaningfully and he helps me hobble, my strength suddenly gone, over to Mia's bedside.

"Hey, honey," I say. I can't tell where to touch her, everything seems bruised or broken, so I settle on putting my hands on her pillow, next to her cheek. Christian remains a sentinel behind me, smiling down at his little sister.

"I'm sorry, Ana," she says and I watch her melt into a tiny puddle of tears.

"Shh, don't think of it." I smile gently at her. In what universe should she be apologizing to me?

"None of this would have happened if I'd taken Christian's warning more seriously." She looks up at her brother, totally sheepish and completely non-Mia-like. To his credit, even though I'm sure Christian is beyond mad at her recklessness, he can't bring himself to show her anything but complete kindness.

I smile and grab her attention once more. "None of us took it seriously enough. You can't hold yourself responsible. You'll only drive yourself insane that way."

Christian leans down. "You should take your own advice, Mrs. Grey," he says quietly in my ear.

I know he's right, but brush it off for the moment. _Delay_. Today, I'm dealing with my guilt about shooting Mia. I can't deal with the rest of the guilt yet. That's a project for tomorrow or the day after. One thing at a time.

"How are you feeling, Mia?" I ask quietly.

She considers the question seriously, weighing her aches and pains. I think this incident has done a lot to mature her. "I'm not as weak as I was and breathing has gotten much easier, thankfully." She smiles again at me. "I'm doing pretty damn well considering I've been drugged, beaten to hell, and shot." I can't help but smile back.

"About that..." I start.

She cuts me off. "Detective Clark told me about the gun, Ana. I don't even _want_ your apology, so please don't insult me by making it. I was the reason you were there in the first place. I'm the reason you needed to have the gun. You were so hurt trying to save me that you couldn't aim correctly. Please. Don't apologize. It will just make me feel like shit."

I consider her speech. This is exactly how I've felt each time someone has tried to apologize to me. I decide that honoring her request is the adult thing to do. Forgiveness in this case is already granted and asking for further absolution is selfish. I smile.

"Alright, Mia. As you wish. I won't. But I don't want to hear another 'sorry' out of your mouth, either. Agreed?"

She smiles brightly, and honestly it looks a bit painful. "Agreed."

We both giggle easily and Christian beams at us both.

"Alright, ladies. This is quite enough excitement for you both. Mia, you should rest — get some sleep. Mrs. Grey, may I have your permission to carry you back to your room? I don't want you overexerting yourself on the way back."

I nod gracefully and we say our goodbyes to Mia as Christian lifts me into his arms, leaving my crutches by Mia's bedside. "I'll come back for those later," he whispers.

The whole way back to our room (as I've started calling it — Christian barely ever leaves), our eyes are locked on each other's. We crawl into bed and snuggle together, telling one another tiny secrets until we're soundly asleep.


	6. Homeward

_I'm so pleased with the response. Thank you so much for the reviews — I'm humbled by your kind words. Thankfully for everyone, Ana forgives Christian really quickly so no lingering resentment — only a bit of confusion as to where everyone stood after the kidnapping._

_It's really odd to write in the present tense and I found it a bit awkward when reading the books, too, but it does allow me to play with an idea that most of you will probably notice by the end of the chapter._

_And, because I'm getting a little addicted to writing this story, I'm going to be posting probably every night this week. It's gonna be cuh-razy._

_Thanks again and remember! Follow, Favorite, Review!_

_I'm still open to a beta, so PM me if you're interested._

* * *

**Chapter 27**

* * *

I finally get discharged from the hospital today. I'm so glad to be going home, but part of me is worried about spending so much time with Christian, unable to really touch him. We can't even have any vanilla for another three weeks. It's going to be three weeks from hell.

Yesterday, I asked him if he'd seen Dr. Flynn since the incident. He frowned, said he'd talked to John every day and I was completely baffled where he found the time.

"I think you should start seeing him," Christian suddenly blurted out.

I shook my head slowly at him, "I'm fine. I don't need the great highway robber to analyze me," I replied, but he really wasn't having it.

"You're just postponing the inevitable, Ana. You're going to have to deal with everything eventually and I'm worried that the longer you put it off, the worse it'll be when you finally confront it."

I frown at the memory. Today's supposed to be happy. I'm going home and tomorrow my mother gets into town so she can be my nursemaid and Christian can start going to work again. You'd think he would need to go to work at least once a month or something — being the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company. But he just keeps saying that it can all wait. I can't help thinking of the Taiwan trip he was about to leave for when the whole thing happened. I hope Ros was able to handle it all without him.

I'm glad today's Wednesday so he'll work Friday and then we can have the weekend. This way we can ease back into our old routine.

I have my bag packed, I'm fully dressed in a knee-length blue a-line skirt and white blouse, thanks largely to the ministrations of my lovely, dear husband — I haven't quite mastered putting on my own bra yet and reaching around my cast is a harrowing prospect. Christian is saying his goodbyes to Mia while I wait for the doctor to sign off on my chart. I'm _ready_.

Knowing that Jack Hyde is still out there, wherever he is, scares the crap out of me, but I think it is enough to drive Christian over the edge. He's doubled my security detail and has beefed up the systems back at Escala — including a secret entrance to the panic room from our bedroom. I hope to hell we never have need of any of it and that Hyde is content to stay on his tropical island of choice with his five million dollars for the rest of his miserable life. And I hope that he gets terrible allergies and it rains all the time. Maybe malaria, too.

See? I'm dealing. I'm stable. I'm not ignoring my problems, merely prioritizing all the shit to be dealt with in an organized and timely manner. My subconscious stares down my Problems and calls out, _Single file, please. No pushing!_

Dr. Crumfeld comes in and closes the door. I look at him quizzically. He's never shut the door before. "Would you like to wait for Mr. Grey before we start the discharge exam?" he asks.

"Oh, no, that's alright. I'd like to be ready to go as soon as he gets back, thanks." I smile at him.

He checks all my vitals one last time, nodding approvingly at my blood pressure, my heart rate... Then he stops what he's doing and sits on the edge of the chair with a somber expression.

This does not bode well.

"Mrs. Grey, what kinds of follow-up appointments do you have scheduled so far?" he asks. Okay, this seems like a straight-forward enough question.

"I'm seeing my gynecologist this coming Tuesday, my internist next week, the surgeon wants to do a follow-up in two weeks to check my wound, and I'm getting the cast off with the orthopedist two weeks from Thursday."

"Is that all?"

I think for a moment. "Yes, I believe so."

He sighs. "I would like you to see a mental health professional of some sort — it doesn't have to be a psychiatrist or a psychoanalyst. It could be a women's mental health caregiver or a social worker. I just want to make sure you have someone to talk to about all that's happened recently."

"I have my husband to talk to, Dr. Crumfeld."

He shakes his head. "No, you need to have more than that. Sometimes those closest to us are the most difficult to be honest with about how we really feel deep inside."

_Okay, now he's starting to piss me off_. "Dr. Crumfeld, there is nothing wrong with me and I am not 'damaged'. I don't need to be _fixed_. I am dealing with all this and that's fine."

He flounders. "Maybe I should talk to your husband about this," he starts.

"Dr. Crumfeld, I'm trusting you won't violate the doctor-patient confidentiality here by discussing this with my husband. If you did, I'm afraid I'd have to see to it that you lost your license quite swiftly." I hear the words coming out of my mouth before I'm fully aware of the threat I'm making. I'm freaking scary! My subconscious high fives my inner bitch.

He blanches. "I understand, Mrs. Grey" he murmurs just as Christian comes bounding in with a stupid grin on his face. I match my face to his and practically leap off the bed.

"That's it, I'm ready!" I turn to Dr. Crumfeld one last time. "Am I free to go, doctor? Or is there something else?"

Poor guy just nods and hands me my prescriptions before grabbing my chart and leaving the room.

Christian picks me up in his arms, and I feel so relieved to be rid of this place. It's nothing more than a reminder of all the bad things that have happened. Now I can go home and forget all about it.

* * *

I sit in bed on Friday, reading manuscript after manuscript, reveling in the other worlds of these books. I forget how much I miss my husband and drift away into the current book, a story about teenagers falling in love despite the odds, et cetera, et cetera.

"It's time for your pill," my mother practically sings as she scurries into our bedroom. She's carrying a huge glass of orange juice and what seems like an even bigger pink antibiotic pill. _At least you don't have a gag reflex_, my husband's words skip through my brain, tugging delightfully at my happy place as I blush crimson and take the pill from my mother's hand.

"It must be some steamy novel, Ana, to make you blush like that," my mother jokes as I chug down my juice. "I think the last time I saw you that pink was when I caught you making out with Bradley in the 10th grade." I sputter, but finish the glass in one go.

She sits next to me on our huge king bed. Her look turns sober for a moment.

"How are you dealing with everything, Ana?" _Damn, why does everyone keep asking me that?_

"Everything is totally fine!" I snap back at her. It was a more forceful reply than I'd intended and she narrows her eyes.

"Don't you sass me, young lady. I'm your mother."

I exhale loudly. If Christian were here, that'd be enough to earn me a good spanking. My insides tighten at the thought and I blush crimson again. "Sorry, Mom. It's just everybody keeps asking me that and I don't know how to prove to everyone that nothing's wrong."

She pulls me into a great big bear hug and I close my eyes and hug her back, feeling warm and at ease. She says quietly in my ear, "You'd tell me if something was wrong?"

I nod sullenly and pull back from the hug.

"I have to get back to work, Mom. Thanks for taking care of me." I smile brightly at her as she takes my empty glass and heads towards the kitchen.

Alone at last, I burrow deeper under the covers and sink into my manuscript, where no one gets kidnapped, shot, blackmailed, or pregnant.


	7. Future Plans

_This will be the last chapter of tonight. Expect an update tomorrow, folks!_

_Thanks for reading!_

* * *

**Chapter 28**

* * *

Saturday night, Kate and Elliot come over for dinner and I'm so pleased to have everyone together. It's so relaxed and I feel like everything is going to be just fine.

Grace gave me the go-ahead for a bit of wine yesterday, so I get Kate to pour me a glass and nurse that sucker for the whole night. If it's all I get, I want to make it last.

My mother has decided to let herself go, though, and is on her fourth glass by dessert. She's a happy drunk, but I worry about how Christian will react. I know he hates drunks.

"So, Elliot," she slurs lazily. "Tell me about this Barbie Dream House you're building my daughter."

We all smile. What an apt description. Apart from the utter lack of the color pink, it is so much like a Barbie Dream House, with one side of it open — those huge floor-to-ceiling windows — I'm surprised none of us thought of it before.

"Actually, it's almost done, Carla. Maybe we can all go visit it tomorrow," Elliot says.

"Ooh! I've been dying to see it," Kate immediately offers.

Christian shoots them each a menacing look and Elliot stutters.

"Th... That is, if you're feeling up to it, Ana," he adds quickly.

I look to Christian. I know he's nervous about security, but he's being overcautious about my mobility. I scowl at him. He discreetly itches the palm of his left hand with his right. _Twitchy-palmed control freak_. I smile back at Elliot, "I think it's a great idea. Maybe we can bring a picnic. How does that sound?"

Everyone agrees and we finish our dessert without further incident.

After saying goodnight to Kate, Elliot, their three armed escorts, and my mother, Christian picks me up and carries me slowly to our bedroom. "What am I going to do with you, Mrs. Grey," he murmurs and I feel myself heating from the inside. My inner goddess lazily raises her head from her nap and looks to see if someone is calling her.

"I can think of a few things, Mr. Grey," I reply flirtatiously as he sets me down on the edge of the bed, but his expression darkens.

"You know what Crumfeld said. Three weeks. So, on November 7th, we'll have a private celebration, but until then, you're off-limits."

I frown. "Christian, I can't make it that long. It's already been a month. This is torture." He sighs and pulls me close.

"I know, baby, but I won't put you at risk just so we can satisfy an itch." I flop backwards on the bed and groan. Christian leans back so he's lying on his side, propped up on his elbow, staring down at me. "Sorry." He takes the tip of one finger and runs it slowly from my left shoulder along my collar bone, down into the dip at the base of my neck, over my other collar bone, to my right shoulder. It feels like he's touching every inch of my skin. My breathing picks up and I arch my back automatically.

_Holy shit!_ I should not have done that. Pain runs down my spine to my hip and I wince dramatically. Christian immediately pulls his hand away. "Ugh, I'm so sorry, Ana."

How can it possibly be good for my health if they have to scrape me off the ceiling after I explode? I cover my eyes with my arms and sigh deeply. "Fucking Jack Hyde," I whimper.

Christian immediately gets up and busies himself getting me ready for bed. He undresses me and redresses me, being careful not to touch my skin directly.

When I'm completely changed into my short green silk nightgown, he points to the bed. "Get in." _So bossy, Mr. Grey._

I slide onto my side of the bed and wait for him to get in. He looks down at me briefly, then mutters, "I have some work to do," and marches out. I'm left cold and alone for the first time since I woke up in the hospital and I just can't hold it together.

Not wanting Christian to know just how much it hurts, I curl up as much as I can with my leg cast, and silently weep. The wine finally does its job and I fall asleep with my face still wet.

* * *

The next day, the apartment is buzzing with activity by the time I've hobbled into the great room. Security personnel are everywhere and I find myself dizzy from the activity of it all. I collapse on one of the stools at the breakfast bar and Mrs. Jones slides a steaming-hot plate of hash browns, scrambled eggs, rye toast, and apple sauce my direction. My mother, sitting next to me, places one of my pink horse pills next to my fork and pours me a tall glass of orange juice.

"Good morning, darling. Are you ready for our big outing?" She's so chipper. I guess she's already slept in three hours by her estimation, since she's always been terrible adjusting to jet lag.

I smile back and take my pill begrudgingly. Christian slides in to the chair on my other side, landing a sweet kiss on my cheek before digging into his egg white omelet.

"What's with all the extra muscle?" I ask him, but he just takes a huge bit of omelet and chews. I stare him down, daring him to take another bite before answering my question. He swallows hard, and turns to face me.

"Are you sure you want to go by the house today? Wouldn't you rather just stay here?"

He's dodging the question. I know him better than to think this is innocent — he's deliberately keeping something from me. "What happened?" I murmur.

He glances quickly at my mother. I get the hint. Whatever it is, he doesn't want Carla to know. I excuse myself after a few minutes and ask Christian to help me get dressed.

I hobble back to the bedroom and he starts his routine of asking me what I'd like to wear today. Classic avoidance technique. I have absolutely no patience for this today.

"Alright, Grey. Spill it."

He flops next to me on our bed and runs both hands through his hair. This can't be good. "We've heard from Hyde."

I feel my heart rate increase and my breathing shallows. The room feels like it's rocking underneath me. It could be an earthquake, but Christian isn't trying to get us under the door jamb, so I figure it's just me.

"When? How?" I whisper.

"We got a... Letter."

"Well, what did it say?" I ask, breathless.

"That's the thing," Christian starts, unsure. "It only said one word — 'Gotcha'."

_Creepy_. "Okay, that's sufficiently weird but what's the big deal? Why all the security, Christian? How do we even know it was him?"

He exhales. "It was written on Dr. Greene's stationery."

_Shit!_ Did I manage to drag poor Dr. Greene into this, too? How do I manage to destroy so many people's lives around me? "Is she alright?" I'm panicking. This is not okay. I don't know what I'll do if another innocent person's been hurt because of me.

Christian looks so frazzled. I'm surprised I didn't notice it earlier. Has he been putting on a brave face for me all morning? It's Sunday, the mail doesn't get delivered today, so he must have known about this since at least yesterday. How long has he been like this?

"She's fine. We've checked on her and everyone from her office is accounted for. No one has seen anyone fitting Jack's description, either."

Does that mean he's been in her office when no one was there? Did he have access to my medical records? God, what does he know about me?

"Is it safe to keep my appointment Tuesday?" I ask. I was not looking forward to it anyway and now something feels off. Very off.

"That's what I've been wondering, but I don't have an answer. I just don't know." I can see fear in every part of my sweet Fifty's body. His hands move frenetically, playing with the strap of my bra. His left leg is jumping up and down with no discernible rhythm. His face is creased and pale, his beard doing little to mask his utter terror. "I need to protect you but I don't know that I can," and he completely loses it. He puts his head in my lap and shakes as I smooth his hair over and over, kissing him gently on his temple until I can feel him begin to calm.

"Then we'll reschedule the appointment. Simple," I say.

His shaking stills slightly. "And today?"

I consider the risks. I am so completely ready to _do_ something, go anywhere. All I've seen since that day are the hospital and our apartment. I _want_ to go, but is it worth the risk?


	8. The Build

_Well, this may be the only chapter tonight, but at least it's a long one._

_I really loved writing about the house as I imagined it. At the bottom (because I don't want to ruin the surprise), I've listed a number of photos and websites so you can see some of the architectural features I describe. I can't even afford my own place, let alone a mansion or these kinds of luxury improvements, but a girl can dream, can't she? As it happens, I'm a designer, so chalk it up to that if you will._

* * *

**Chapter 29**

* * *

"Okay, kiddies, time to go," Carla says as she knocks on our bedroom door.

I look at Christian, desperate for him to make the decision here. I can't disappoint my mother. But Christian looks just as desperately back at me, frozen by inaction.

"How much do you trust your security team?" I finally ask, because that's really what it boils down to. Do we think Jack Hyde can outsmart all of these men once again?

"Knock, knock, I'm coming in!" My mother let's herself in and claps her hands twice. "Hup two. I don't want to keep Elliot and Kate waiting. You know how she hates when people are late." I smile. Two years ago, my mother and I showed up five minutes late to a parents' weekend mother-daughter tea event and Kate was apoplectic. She kept shouting about standards and honesty in our personal dealings. _If you can't keep a promise, you shouldn't make one!_ It was quite the scene. Little does my mother know that Kate's ire was far more about the stress of being alone with Mrs. Kavenagh than any hangup she might have about timeliness.

Maybe it's how excited my mother is or maybe it's seeing the two of us smiling. Hell, maybe it's the fear of Kate's wrath, but Christian immediately plasters on a contented smirk and stands up, all evidence of his near-meltdown a memory. "Alright, you heard the woman," he says to me, offering his hand. "Put a shirt on, it's not that kind of a party, Mrs. Grey."

I blush and toss on my t-shirt and sweater, grab my crutches and hobbity-hob-hobble out of there.

* * *

Taylor drives the SUV while Sawyer, Ryan, plus _fifteen_ other security teammates, as I like to call them, escort us to our new house. Two SUVs before us and two follow, making ours the larger caravan I've ever seen.

The only good thing about having so many security teammates is that I can avoid Sawyer for now. I know he was beside himself that I tricked him to put myself in danger — I know he temporarily lost his job over it, too. Christian fired him right after they found me and didn't hire him back until two weeks later when I begged him to. I feel absolutely awful about it and need to have a one-on-one sit-down conversation with him to apologize, but that will not be happening today, thank you very much. _Delay, delay, delay_, right? Today is reserved for picnicking with some of my favorite people and seeing the house. In the meantime, though, I am avoiding Sawyer like the plague.

We arrive just as Elliot is helping Kate out of their car, their security guards casing the house. I reach for the door handle as we come to a stop, but Taylor turns around and says, "I'm sorry, ma'am, but please give me a minute or two to make sure the grounds are safe before you exit the vehicle." He presses his ear piece and starts issuing commands. With the addition of Kate and Elliot's detail, he has a nice, round twenty minions to control and keep track of. I do not envy him that.

I huff and sit back, crossing my arms over my chest like a 7-year-old who was just told she won't be getting dessert. Christian and my mother laugh kindly at me and we all relax a little.

Poor Elliot and Kate are standing outside watching our tinted windows, waiting for us to come out and play. I roll down my window and wave, still wearing my pouty face.

Kate laughs hysterically at my expression and Elliot joins in too, which just makes me pout more.

"Ana..." Christian leans across me and rolls the window up. "It's not safe. Just be patient."

"What is a stupid window going to protect me from?" I ask. Then I realize. It's probably bullet-proof glass. _Jeez_, how paranoid can he be?

Finally, after what feels like an hour, Taylor nods and says, "Alright, folks. All clear."

I spring from the car, tripping on my cast and landing in Elliot's arms.

"Good thing my reflexes are quick, Ana," he says, smiling. Kate is laughing at me once more, but Christian is fuming. He leaps from my side of the car and pulls me from Elliot's arms, pressing me to his chest.

"Don't we have enough to worry about without your recklessness?" he hisses in my ear.

I am contrite, I swear I am, but I shoot him an awful, judgmental glare. "Thanks, Elliot," I say loudly, still looking at Christian.

He grimaces and looks up at his big brother. "Thank you," he murmurs. I can't help but laugh. Mine has to be the most stubborn husband in the world.

I spin in his arms to face my mother, best friend, and brother-in-law, all of us smiling.

"No problem, bro," says Elliot.

Taylor hands me my crutches from the trunk and I begin my slow hobble towards the house.

"Oh, it's wonderful, Elliot," I breathe as I enter the foyer. The hardwood floors have been completely restored and new moulding and paint adorns all the walls. Beyond are the main staircase, spiraling to the second floor lazily, with a refinished rail that shines, and the framed floor-to-ceiling windows. You can see straight to Escala now and I feel tears threatening.

Christian wraps his arms around me lovingly from behind and kisses the top of my head. "Really fantastic, Elliot."

My mother and Kate are speechless. This is not a common occurrence.

"Let me take you all on the grand tour," Elliot says and he walks proudly into the great room. "We've redone the fireplace completely with a flagstone surround and created a filtration system in the chimney to make your smoke less harmful to the environment." It's massive at eight feet wide and the cladding continues to the ceiling, twelve feet up.

_Ooh..._

We continue through to the kitchen area, which has been completely reimagined — the cabinets have become frosted glass with the same push-to-open lack of hardware as the ones at Escala. The countertops are slick flagstone to match the fireplace and the backsplash is covered with spanish tiles. There's an enormous island with a breakfast bar that wraps around two sides. There's also an eat-in nook in a bay window set into the side of the house with an incredible view of the _back_ of the house — the floor-to-ceiling windows almost invisible and opening onto a patio.

_Ahh..._

Elliot holds his finger up, asking us to wait a moment. He presses a tiny button on the wall and the floor-to-ceiling windows start to move. It's not windows, at all, it's the whole wall. The wall starts moving left and keeps going, overlapping the next twelve-foot-wide panel of glass wall, which starts to move until they're nestled discreetly underneath the staircase. "Tada!" he blurts out, beaming from ear to ear.

I have to hand it to him and Gia. This is so much more than I ever imagined. Christian leans over and whispers in my ear, "Nice job with the house, Mrs. Grey."

Elliot leads us onto the flagstone patio, under a pergola that matches the original style of the house perfectly.

There's an infinity pool that looks like it's almost part of the Sound and an outdoor shower, then up a couple of steps is the dining area — complete with built-in grill and wet bar.

My mother is just walking around with her mouth open. Kate leans over and dips her fingers in the pool. "It's freaking heated," she mutters and smiles back at me.

Next we visit Christian's office, my library/office, and then the downstairs guest bedroom with attached bath. It's all so perfect.

"I know you're not feeble yet, Carla, but this will be handy for the parents one day we think," Elliot says of the downstairs room. Getting up the stairs when you're 80 is no easy feat. Hell, it's no easy feat for me right now and I'm only 23.

Christian picks me up. "Let's check out upstairs next," he says and starts climbing. At the top of the stairs are five bedrooms, the largest of which is the master suite. It's bigger than the great room in our apartment and runs half the width of the house. The glass wall slides the same way as it did in the kitchen and opens out onto a glass balcony with a textured and frosted floor, not dissimilar to the one at Escala. The view is absolutely spectacular.

"Is this really our home?" I ask no one in particular.

"It's absolutely spectacular," I hear my mother's voice echo from the bathroom. I head her way and find her standing in a room almost half the size of the bedroom. The set-in tub looks like it could seat eight — I notice a ton of controls nearby. It must be a whirlpool or hot tub or something. Definitely intriguing. The shower is nothing more than a drain in the middle of the room and a gargantuan shower head hanging straight down from the ceiling, which is tiled in the same cream marble as the floor and walls. His and hers sinks sit on either side of the room and there's a small private water closet which houses the toilet for privacy. Tiny recessed lights are set into the ceiling every couple of feet around the edge of the room and above the shower. The effect is a sparkly, clean, romantic one.

Kate walks over to a digital panel near the door to the bedroom. "Is this the lighting? Looks confusing," she says.

Elliot smiles and walks over. "That's one of the things that isn't quite done yet. It's the whole-house sound system. There's a panel in each room just like this one where you can access any song, tv show, movie, whatever from the main server in the closet of Christian's office. When you press this," he points to a button that looks a bit like a television screen, "an LCD drops down over on that wall. The speakers are built in under the sinks." We all look and, lo and behold, spot the speakers seamlessly integrated into the cabinets.

Kate and I walk (hobble) back into the bedroom. "Let's see the closet," Kate says and throws open a set of frosted glass doors to reveal an enormous walk-in. I've been in vintage stores that were smaller than this. There are angled shelves for shoes, drawers for jewelry and watches, larger drawers for folded clothes, hooks for handbags and ties, and then rack upon rack for hanging clothes. "We're definitely going to need to go shopping to fill this baby up," she says.

Thinking back to the plans Christian and I had gotten from Gia, I realize that my sense of proportion had been off. Everything is about two or three times larger than I imagined it. Then I groan.

"What is it?" Kate asks, as my mother strolls in, mouth still agape.

"There are two closets," I mutter. I hadn't expected them to be so large, so making them his and hers as Gia suggested sounded totally reasonable.

Kate smirks. "Definitely. Definitely shopping."

What torture. She knows I hate shopping. Oh well, I guess I brought this on myself.

After seeing everything the master suite has to offer, we head to the other four bedrooms. They're each a more moderate size — still big enough for a king bed, but not nearly as lavishly outfitted.

Finally, my mother speaks when we're alone in the third bedroom. It's a simple room with a medium walk-in closet, attached bath, and three windows. The center one, a bay window, has a beautiful window seat with a view of the meadow in front of the house and a tree grove beyond, hiding the street. "This would be a perfect nursery," she croons.

And that's it. She's absolutely right. Without realizing it, I'd intended for this room to be a nursery: the glider chair would go right there and the crib there; the changing table would go by that wall and there'd be a play area over here. The first couple years, we could use the walk-in as a pantry for diapers, toys, stuffed animals, and baby food and then it would get turned into a closet filled with adorable little sailor suits or frilly dresses. I could see it decorated with posters of heartthrobs or muscle cars during junior high then cases of books and a desk where the changing table once was for high school and college. I had planned twenty years for this room and when I found out I was pregnant, I'd let myself believe it would be the _next_ twenty years.

I blanch and start hyperventilating. I collapse on the floor and bawl, barely able to catch a breath. I'm vaguely aware that my mother calls for Christian. My vision softens and my peripheral vision evaporates into nothingness. Arms wrap around me but I can't stop. All the pain from the last month floods over me at once and I can feel every bone in my body ache. Every blood vessel constricts. Every nerve ending throbs.

"Goddamn it, what is wrong, Ana?" he yells, fear warping his voice.

I have no way of responding. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't make my body do what I want. It's acting of its own accord and making me suffer all the while.

I start trembling and feel Christian's grip tighten on me. I don't feel the spark. I don't feel comfort in his grasp. I feel nothing, just squeezing on my too-tender skin.

My mother enters my vision and I feel her forcefully shake me once. A moment passes and all I can feel is a sense of falling forever. Suddenly, my mother's hand enters my vision as she slaps me squarely across the face as hard as she can. "Ana!" she yells.

I snap back to reality. I focus on my cheek — the sting is incredible and I can feel my pulse there as blood rushes up to color it.

"Jesus, Carla!" Christian yells once more. He's holding my arms too tightly. I shrug him off, wipe my face and make a sorry attempt at standing up. Christian helps me to my feet and I can see all four of them staring at me, waiting for me to explain, to say anything.

Well, I'm not going to. So there.

* * *

_I imagine a bunch of you are sitting on the edge of your seat, saying "WHAT THE FUCK!?" Don't worry, tomorrow will be a nice big update and there will be plenty of new information. I guess Ana's not dealing as well as she wants everyone (including herself) to believe._

_If there's something you do or do not want to happen, let me know! PM me or leave a comment below. The responses thus far have been just lovely and have been making me smile constantly for the last couple of days._

_As promised, here are some links to some beautiful, amazing design stuff (Note: this is a single link that links to multiple webpages/images/sites normally in a gallery style, but sometimes that's a bit buggy, so instead it's a list format. Just click through to see everything — it's called BridgeURL dot COM and I recommend it to everyone)._

_ (remove the spaces to make the link work and rewrite the DOT as a . and the SLASHes as a /. This site really doesn't like web links! I couldn't even type its own web address — it deletes it when you save the page)_

_bridgeurl DOT COM SLASH less-than-lucky-home-improvements SLASH all_

_The link is ALSO saved on my profile, so take a look over there if you're having trouble._


	9. Consequences, Schmonsequences

_I realize this isn't a super-long chapter, but a lot happens, so hopefully everyone's hunger for more chapters will be sated for the evening. _

_I've been struggling with the order everything should happen in, so if you're unhappy with it, I apologize. In retrospect, it would have been nice if we'd hadn't already had our major breakdown in the nursery, but c'est la vie. You've already read it, so I can't change it now._

_Probably after this week, I'm going to be switching to once- or twice-weekly updates. If all goes as planned, these will include at least two chapters at a time, so it won't be the end of the world._

_Again, thank you to everyone who has read, followed, favorited, and reviewed! I'm quite honestly shocked by how many of you are reading this story! Over 3500 views since Sunday night when I first posted the story with 60 followers! Spectacular._

_I'm good about PMing all the people who've reviewed while logged in, so keep 'em coming. I'm interested to hear your reactions._

_Until tomorrow, KG_

* * *

**Chapter 30**

* * *

Minutes pass in silence and I shift on my crutches. I decide to go into the bathroom to freshen up.

"Whoa, Ana, what the fuck was that?" Kate says as she follows me. Everyone else remains rooted where they stand. That's a blessing at least.

I smile at her tightly. My subconscious is shivering in the corner, absolutely no help at all. My inner bitch, however, starts wiggling her finger back and forth, shouting, _Delay, delay, delay!_

I run the sink... _Damn_. No hot water yet. I run the ice-cold water and splash it on my face. It shocks my system and resets me in the exact way I needed.

I can handle this. I turn to Kate, drying my face with the front of my sweater. "I'm fine. Really, it's not a big deal," I say and go to hobble back into the bedroom, but Kate won't have any of it. She walks brusquely around me and slams the door shut.

_"_Bullshit," she quietly says. She speaks so calmly it makes the anger in her voice almost scary. I've never heard her like this. "That _was_ a big deal. Talk to me, Ana. I'm your best friend, dammit."

I look at her neutrally. She's not going to let me out of here until I tell her something — anything. But I'm _fine_. It was a freak occurrence. "I'm just hormonal, Kate," I proffer. "It's PMS. That's all."

She wavers. I can't tell if this excuse will be enough. She's inscrutable.

We stand in silence for a moment. She is clearly considering what I've said and I'm holding my breath that she doesn't need anything further from me.

There's a knock finally on the bathroom door.

"Ana?" I hear Christian's voice crack. "You okay in there? Should I come in?" He has no idea how to handle this situation and it's clearly scaring the crap out of him. Hell, it scares the crap out of me. I need my control freak husband to take charge right now so I can just roll with his decisions.

"Yeah, I'm coming out in a sec," I call, keeping my voice light and steady.

Kate eyes me suspiciously. _Shit_. This is going to be a discussion.

"I know PMS, Ana. That was not PMS. That was a complete freaking meltdown." As she speaks, her voice grows and grows, bouncing off the gleaming tile. The only thing to absorb any sound in here is me. "I can't help you if you don't talk to me, Ana! I know everything's been overwhelming, but I don't know which part of it is hurting you this bad. Just tell me, we can deal with this." Suddenly she stops. I'm sure I look completely incredulous.

She lowers her voice to almost a whisper. "Is he hurting you," she asks.

"No!" I yell.

_That's it, lady,_ my inner bitch starts popping off her press-on nails. _I'm gonna go postal on your ass_.

"I told you it's not a big deal and I freaking meant it! There's nothing to explain because there's nothing wrong. I'm not broken and if anyone else asks me how I'm fucking _doing_, I'm going to really have a meltdown. So leave me alone and let me enjoy our fucking outing already, will you!"

And with that, I throw the door open to find Christian, my mom, and Elliot standing with their jaws hanging open. At my nasty look, they clap them shut and I hobble past them, seething.

_"_I'm ready for my picnic," I mutter as I leave the room and head for the stairs.

* * *

"So, give me an update on your wedding plans," I say cheerily, trying to change the mood, as I stuff some brie in my mouth. They've all been scrutinizing me for the past hour and I've just about had enough. I need to take the focus off of me any way I can. Besides, I'm genuinely interested in how the wedding is shaping up.

"Well, we've picked a date," Elliot enthuses.

My mother clings to this subject for all its worth. Clearly I'm not the only one sick of the "Ana's broken" tone lunch has been taking. "Oh, really? When will it be?"

"May 5th," Kate says, smiling.

"I love Spring weddings," my mother exclaims.

I let their conversation wash over me, not absorbing anything except through osmosis. The sense is so familiar — I have this vague memory from the hospital of feeling similarly. I try to hold the thought but it's gone before I can focus on it. It's an impression more than anything and it only exists in the periphery.

I breath in, enjoying the cool, crisp October air. The sound of the gulls, the wind passing through the tall grass, the rise and fall of Kate and Mom's voices all give me a deep sense of calm. I stare at the sky, watching the clouds pass overhead. It's a perfect day. If I can forget that one thing, it's been an absolutely perfect, ideal day.

Christian's hand brings me back to the moment as he gently tucks a stray hair behind my ear, lightly holding my earlobe. I smile at him kindly, this man I love. Concern is clear on his face, but I lean over and brush my lips tenderly across his, feeling a satisfying yen in my chest. It feels like a truck engine starting and I linger. I place my hand on his chest and feel him momentarily hold his breath. His heartbeat picks up slightly and I can feel that familiar warm tug deep inside. My breathing has become shallow and ragged.

"What you do to me, Mr. Grey." My lips touching his barely as they form the words.

His stormy gray eyes glisten. "You'll tell me if something is wrong, won't you Ana?" He leans into me and I can feel his lips quivering as he kisses me slowly. All I can do when he pulls back to look at me is nod feebly.

"I love you so much, Ana. I don't know what I would do without you." He touches his hand to the small of my back, sending a bolt of electricity up my spine.

I yelp and almost leap a foot in the air. What timing. I retrieve my vibrating phone from my front pocket, trying to steady my breathing. Christian laughs silently and places his hand on my thigh as I look down at the caller ID. It's a Seattle number I don't recognize. I furrow my brow but hit "Talk".

"Hello?"

At first I hear nothing.

"Hello?"

Then I hear it. The breaths are heavy but calm. I can tell there's a man on the other end, but he doesn't speak.

"Who is this?"

The breathing roughens.

Christian grabs the phone from my hand.

"Who the hell is this?" he bellows.

Almost immediately he hits a button on the phone, stands up, and holds out his hand to me. "We're leaving."

And like that, the day is over. My mercurial man's good mood and tenderness is wiped from his face, replaced by a cold, dark rage.

He helps me to my feet and scowls at Elliot, Kate, and Carla. They hesitate. "Now."

Everyone's on their feet and while I hobble as quickly as I can across the field with Elliot's help, Christian stomps quickly over to Taylor, furiously issuing instructions. There's a frenzy of activity as the security team scatters, hands flying to holsters and earpieces, eyes scanning the area.

I clamber up into the Audi, some besuited man taking my crutches and closing the door behind me. Taylor's already in the front seat when Christian climbs in next to me. "Go," he orders before he's even closed his door. I see my mother getting into another one of the SUVs.

"Jesus, Christian, what gives?" I say. But I already know. Deep down, I knew who was at the other end of that phone.

"He said he likes that green sweater," Christian murmurs.

_He's here!_ It hits me like a ton of bricks. My mother swings around to stare at us.

I see the sheer panic on his face and I want to comfort him, but I can't. I'm silent. I have no words. There's no way for me to fix this, to make it better. It's terrible and that's all there is.

"He's fucking with us." Christian is furious and I don't blame him. He looks over at me and his expression softens slightly. He undoes my seatbelt and pulls me onto his lap, my safe place. He buries his face in my hair and holds me against his chest.

"Shh, shh" He rocks me slowly as we speed away.

It's only now that I realize I'm shaking all over. I'm truly frightened. I feel the hysteria boiling over in my chest and I let out a terrified sob and he hugs me tighter.

We're home at Escala far faster than I thought possible. Taylor must have been pushing 100 mph the whole trip. Christian doesn't wait for Taylor to get my crutches when we pull into the garage, but just picks me up and walks to the waiting elevator.

Once inside, I've calmed almost entirely.

"Christian, I can stand up."

Maybe he doesn't hear me, but I'm pretty sure he's ignoring me.

"Put me down," I say a bit more forcefully.

He looks down at me slowly with an unreadable look in his eyes. We stare at each other for a moment, me still in his arms.

The ping of the elevator redirects our attention. Sawyer is standing in front of us just inside the foyer with his hand up, signaling for us to stay still and keep quiet. He puts his hand to his earpiece, listening to the voices over the communication system.

Alarm colors his face and he steps into the elevator with us, pressing the button for the garage, impatient as the doors smoothly close. Just as we begin to move, we hear a gun shot echo from the apartment.

"The apartment is not secure, sir," Sawyer says.

_I think we figured that out_, I think unkindly.

"T, is the engine still running?" We listen to the one-sided conversation as Sawyer prepares Taylor for our return to the car. Before we arrive in the basement garage, I put my hand on Sawyer's shoulder.

"Where's Gail?" I ask, quiet.

He looks back at me, but all I can see is a cold professionalism staring back at me. His gaze shifts to Christian above me and he says, "I think she made it to the panic room in time."

The doors open to the car waiting, already pulled out of its parking spot, and Christian slides me into my seat while Sawyer takes the front passenger seat. When Christian is situated next to me, he says, "I'm in."

We're off like a rocket and I crawl over to my husband once more. I fall into an uneasy sleep as we speed away from this man who seems to be successfully ruining our lives.

Jack Hyde.


	10. Escape

_Okay, all you lascivious readers, here's some meat to go with your potatoes._

_I'm just going to be uploading this one chapter tonight. And, thanks to the impending __**blizzard**__, I'll be updating tomorrow in the middle of the day. I hope everyone's okay with that, because I don't have internet in my apartment (another big problem for me) and won't be venturing out after dinner. Hell, my dinner plans might have to be cancelled for all I know. They changed the forecast today from 5-8" of snow to 10-15" and I've seen at least one weather model that projects as much as 30". JEEZ._

_Anyway, thank you all for reading, following, favoriting, reviewing! As of right now there's been over 4500 views! I'm flabbergast by the response._

_**WARNING**__: This story is rated M for a reason. Not recommended for the faint of heart (although if you're reading a  
_Fifty Shades_ fanfic on the internet, you've likely got a pretty strong constitution)._

* * *

**Chapter 31**

* * *

I'm all trussed up and waiting. The blindfold is smooth and cool against my face. I don't know how long he's going to make me wait. The zip tie binding my hands together in front of me around the bedpost reminds me of Christian's first visit to the hardware store. I feel immensely turned on. The wetness in my panties is evidence of that.

I hear bare footsteps and arch my back slightly. The air eddies around my naked breasts deliciously, hardening my nipples. Not knowing what he's doing around me makes me feel so naughty and horny.

Suddenly, I feel a sharp slap on my ass. I turn my head to face him with a big smile.

And then he slaps my face. Hard. My head bounces against the bedpost.

This isn't right. I feel my heart race. I'm not aroused anymore. I'm just scared.

"Red," I cough. I feel the blindfold dampen from my sudden tears. "Red, red."

He grabs the back of my head with one hand and presses it against the post. It's rough against my face and when I try to shift out of his grip, I scrape my face against its uneven, hard surface. With his other hand, he struggles with my panties.

"Stop squirming, slut."

_Oh, Jesus, It's not Christian._

* * *

"Ana, wake up!" Christian grasps my face with both hands. He slaps his hand firmly against one cheek to bring me out of my nightmare.

My eyes shoot open. "Don't touch me!" I yell and push myself off him, flailing.

It takes a few moments for me to realize I was dreaming. The hurt in Christian's face is monumental and I feel a profound sense of remorse flood over me.

My breathing is still uneven and labored. My heart is beating a mile a minute and I can't find my voice to tell him I didn't mean it.

"You were screaming in your sleep, Anastasia." His voice is barely more than a whisper.

Finally, I regain my composure. "I'm sorry, Christian. I... It was a horrible dream." That's all the explanation I can give right now.

I crawl back over to Christian finally, who looks to have been almost as terrified by the dream as I feel, and he coils his arms around me.

"Only sweet and lovely dreams from now on, Mrs. Grey," he murmurs in my ear. "We're going on a trip."

I notice we're not in Seattle anymore. We're at a gas station off the interstate, though I don't know where. Taylor's pumping gas and I can see through the tinted window that it's nighttime. I must have been asleep for a while.

"Where's everybody else? Where are we going, Mr. Grey?" I ask, stifling my yawn.

He kisses my neck. "They're all staying at my parents' house. The police have set up a 24-hour detail. But, you said you've never been to New York, so..."

I smile widely as I drift calmly back to sleep, feeling safe once more.

* * *

When I wake, the car is parked. I smile up at my husband, intently looking out the window. I follow his gaze.

"What are we doing in San Francisco?" I ask. "I thought we were going to New York."

He squeezes me and says, "We are, but I didn't want to risk flying out of Sea-Tac. The jet is meeting us at SFO." He plants a quick kiss on my forehead. "Hungry?"

I'm starving. I look at my watch: it's 7am! I've been sleeping forever and haven't eaten anything since yesterday afternoon. Even then, our lunch had been unceremoniously cut short. I nod my head.

"Taylor's buying us some fresh clothes right now. We can head to the hotel to shower and order some room service. How does that sound?"

I smile and plop a kiss on his chin.

"Sounds great."

Taylor climbs back into the car and takes us to the Mandarin Oriental.

We check in and are led up to our suite. The view is unbelievable. There's a huge balcony that wraps around the building with lounge chairs artfully arranged to enjoy the entire skyline.

Christian dutifully wraps my cast in a plastic garbage bag and we take a hot shower together. Even though I know we have another two and a half weeks until we can have sex, it doesn't keep me from enjoying his hands over my skin as he suds me up. He stands behind me and tells me to keep absolutely still as he cups both my breasts, running his hands over my ribcage and down my stomach to my hips. It's taking everything I've got not to arch my back, knowing it will only hurt. His touch is so sure and satisfying that I find myself panting. Both hands run around to caress my ass and I groan.

I feel his progress halt and he goes to remove his hands entirely. I cover his hands with mine and squeeze. There's a dull ache from my hip where my fracture was, but I ignore it completely. I need this.

"Ana," he chastises me but I turn around so our bodies are flush against each other. His erection presses against my good hip. He reaches up and pulls at my chin to release my lower lip from my teeth.

"We can't," he says. But there's no power behind his words.

"Uh huh." I run my hands through his wet, curly hair and pull his head down to mine, kissing him. Our tongues touch sensually and he presses me against him, squeezing both ass cheeks, lifting me off the ground and against the wall of the shower. I close my eyes and throw my head back as he runs his mouth down my neck, mad with impatience.

"Oh, God," I say. I can feel myself poised on a precipice. The last month and a half has been agonizing. Every touch, every look, every moment with my husband has been foreplay for this moment. It's so erotic that I'm set to burst already. "I've missed this."

He slows himself and looks into my eyes. He lowers me slowly so I'm standing, his hands still cupping my rear. All I can hear is our labored breathing and the water as it cascades over us. I silently urge him not to stop. Every fiber of my being is ready for this and I don't care what anyone says — nothing can heal me more than this release, to be one with my loving, adoring, fifty shades of fucked up husband.

"I'm not going to fuck you," he says, serious.

And like that, my heart breaks. "No." It nearly brings tears to my eyes. This is cruel.

His eyes darken. Not breaking eye contact with me, he slowly slides his hands up my ass, around my hips, and down to my thighs. I catch my breath. Only his hands are touching me, inching their way up the inside of my thighs. His touch is so light. The water streams from his fingers, warm and seductive.

"I'm not going to fuck you." I have no idea how, but this completely unsexy sentence, which seemed so cruel just seconds ago, now turns me on. It's somewhere between a proposition and a threat.

His finger tips trace the curves of my sex, teasing and intimidating. "Please," I say. I lean forward to try to kiss him, but he pulls back. I move my hands to touch him and he uses his left to pin them above my head.

"Please what?" he asks softly.

"Please, sir." This is so tender.

Holding me in place with his stare, he eases his fingers inside of me and I let out a guttural moan. This closeness has been missing from my life too long. I want this feeling to last forever. None of my aches and pains register anymore. All I am is his touch and his eyes. I lose myself in this.

His pace is so comfortable and unhurried, it's staggering, his fingers moving in a rhythm with our breath. He's simply enjoying my pleasure and there's absolutely no rush in that. He's basking in the slowness of it, absorbing my experience. I feel him drawing me ever closer to the edge. I want to look away, to hide this secret, undignified part of me, but I'm utterly transfixed. His power over me is undeniable.

"Please, sir." I feel my cheeks redden.

He pulls my arms just ever so slightly higher above my head and my body stretches exquisitely in response.

"Please, Christian," I plead.

His breath hitches. "Let go," he mouths and he rubs the pad of his thumb squarely into my core.

My body reacts instantly, rocketing through my orgasm. I keep my eyes open, staring back into his as I come for what feels like minutes. He never ceases his ministrations and I feel myself pushed over the edge again, crying out, never stopping to rest. Our eye contact makes all of it more intimate, more intense. I've never felt closer to him than in this moment, knowing he sees everything about me. I can't hide anything from him like this. My body is completely honest with him.

And then, as I'm easing back down to earth, I start to feel the pain.

My body is still pulsing around his fingers when I feel the first pang in my hip. He pulls his hand away and licks his fingers, never looking away. Now I feel pain shoot down my leg to my toes. He releases my hands and I feel as though I've been stabbed between my ribs. I close my eyes and take a steadying breath. _It's all in my head,_ I intone. _This will pass_.

But it doesn't. Each lingering spasm of pleasure wracks my body, finding a new injury to awaken. I take another breath through my nose and breathe it out between my teeth. _Aw, hell, my aching ass!_ It feels like I've been hit by a truck.

When I double over in pain, Christian turns off the water and swears loudly.

He picks me up, carrying me dripping and naked to the bed. He digs through my purse to find my pain pills, grabs a bottle of water from the wet bar, and comes back to me.

"Sit up, take this." I do as I'm told and look up at him. I do not feel as awful as I did when I woke up in the hospital — not by a long shot — but this is not the post-orgasmic afterglow I generally enjoy, either.

"I shouldn't have done that," he says. "I'm sorry."

He's holding me in his arms, a shamed and worried look on his face. I laugh softly at him. "I'm not. Thank you. I needed that more than you know." He smooths my hair away from my face and gently kisses my lips.

"It _was_ fun," he admits. "You are so incredibly hot when you come for me."


	11. Up and Away (Part I)

_I hope you all enjoyed a little bit of fuckery last night. I was surprised I didn't get any PMs or reviews, but it's sometimes to admit you're that horny._

_I'm SO sorry. As you know, there's a blizzard in New York I have no internet in my apartment currently. The Starbucks on the corner, though it was scheduled to close early at 9pm, just announced it will instead be closing in 9 minutes, so instead of leaving you empty-handed for the night, I thought I'd post what I have so far. It's just a teaser, I guess. My bad. I should have planned my time better._

_Tomorrow I'll do my best to post multiple chapters to save you from a full 24 hours with only about 1000 words. _

_Again, let me know what you'd like to have happen! We aim to please, dear readers._

* * *

**Chapter 32**

* * *

"I'm sorry we skipped out on you, Mom." I want to make it clear to her that I hadn't intended to only have a two-day visit.

We've only been in New York for about twenty minutes. The beginning of the cab ride from LaGuardia is boring, or so Christian and Taylor assure me. With all the hubbub yesterday between not fucking, the pain, eating, and getting to the airport, I managed to forget to call her. She was worried sick as it turns out and doesn't seem to mind that I've called her at 6am her time. I guess it still feels like 9 for her.

"That's okay, Ana," she says. "Grace and Carry have been wonderful hosts and I managed to get a flight back to Savannah for tomorrow morning." _Oh, so it's "Carry" now, is it?_ My mother gets along so well with Christian's dad. It makes me slightly nervous, even though I have no right to be. Her string of husbands I guess is where that's routed. She gets attached to men easily and always seems to get hurt.

"Well, that's good, I guess. Police still keeping you safe?"

She sighs. "Yes, they're oppressive in their attentions." I laugh slightly. "No, they're fine. I don't think there's any chance Hyde can get to us like this. We're basically barricaded in." She pauses for a moment and I can hear her take a deep breath. "Are you guys being safe?"

"Yes, Mom. We just landed and are heading to Christian's apartment."

At this, Christian pinches the skin on my arm holding the phone and shoots me a look.

"Excuse me. _Our_ apartment."

"Well, have a good trip, honey. Feel better soon and don't over-exert yourself there. I know there's a lot to see and do, but you need to remember that you're still healing." My mother is great at the lecture schtick.

"Yes, Mom," I say. "Love you."

"Love you, too, Ana. Talk to you soon."

"Bye." Christian is still staring at me. "What?"

"Everything that's mine is yours." He's so serious, so stern. This has clearly upset him more than I realized. I'm grateful for the partition separating us from Taylor and the cab driver.

"I know, I'm sorry."

"You seem to forget that quite often, Anastasia." His voice drops and I can see pain behind his eyes. "It hurts me."

_Oh, my poor Fifty!_ I take his face in my hands, caressing his temples. "I don't mean to hurt you, Christian. It's just hard for me to think of these things I didn't earn as mine." I smile weakly. "Hell, I've never even seen this apartment. I don't know where it is."

He grins widely. "You will soon." I gasp.

Behind him, the entire city skyline comes into view. It's Monday morning, so we're crawling in the rush hour traffic, but theres's a romantic mist from a steam connection barely obscuring my view of the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, the New York Life Tower... It's so unlike the shape and feeling of Seattle, Atlanta, San Francisco. Somehow, it's older, steeped with history and elegance. Busier. And the cities in Europe we visited on our honeymoon were almost bipolar — struggling between antiquity and modernity. The Gherkin and the Tower Bridge in London spring to mind. While I can see that to a certain extent in New York — brick and mortar landmarks dating from the 18th and 19th Centuries next to freshly completed gleaming towers, it all seems to flow together. You can feel the frenetic energy coming from the city and it makes me smile.

Christian looks over his shoulder then back at me.

"Welcome to New York City, Mrs. Grey."

* * *

"I want to go see the Statue of Liberty, Christian. Then we can visit the Empire State Building and Ground Zero."

I'm sitting on the bed in _our_ townhouse on Sutton Place. It's incredible. From the outside, it seems so small, but inside, it's four stories with an enormous garden on the roof that almost feels like a forest. The part-time housekeeper is full-time while we're here and maintains the place immaculately. The place is decorated in a modernized Federal style and reminds me of a mix between the apartment at Escala and when I visited Colonial Williamsburg with my mother three summers ago. Convex, gilded mirrors mixed with matte gray walls, mid-century modern chairs with chippendales. The bed, itself, is a masterpiece. A swagged canopy, complete with fringe and piping sits atop the sleek, filigreed, wrought iron four-poster. There's a beautiful lattice-work headboard. I see in it the potential for plenty of kinky fuckery and smile.

Christian comes out of the bathroom in his towel, drying his hair, and looking edible. He laughs. "That's a lot for one day. The Statue of Liberty is sort of an all-day event. Maybe we can hit Ellis Island, too."

I pout. I don't know how long we're going to be here and since I can't have sex with my husband, I want to stay as busy as humanly possible so I can avoid thinking about what I'm missing.

"Are you sure you want to do the standard touristy things all this trip? We can spread them out," he says as he plonks down on the bed next to me.

I put my hand on his bare chest and gently push him back into the bed. I lean over and kiss him. He doesn't resist or try to stop me. My kiss gets more eager, deepening, desperate. I try to climb onto him as best I can with my cast. I wind up prone on top of him and I can feel through his towel that he's ready. He wraps his arms around me, pressing me to him and I reach for his towel. He sits up, holding me firmly and setting me next to him.

"Ana," he scolds. "We can't. You know that."

"And _that_ is why I want to do all these touristy things. I want to keep my mind off your... Assets."

He smiles wryly. "I can't say I think it's a bad idea, but do you have any objections to an alternate distraction? I don't want you getting tired out."

I have no idea what he could have in mind, but I agree anyway.

His smile morphs into an evil grin. I think I might regret my decision to agree without further details.

* * *

_Again, I'm sorry, I realize this isn't a whole chapter but there will be more tomorrow (probably in the morning for the rest of this chapter at least)._

_Good night and stay warm!_


	12. Up and Away (Part II)

_Thanks to Winter Storm Nemo, I wasn't able to post this full chapter last night._ _So, this is Part II of Ch. 32. _

_Chapters 33 and 34 will be released tomorrow, but my writing pace is definitely slowing. I can't keep up the daily updates and for that I am immensely sorry. Also, I'm a touch typist (around 80wpm) and outright __**refuse**__ to write this on my iPhone, the only thing that gets internet in my apartment. Making the trek out with my laptop to a place with wifi is a big old pain in the ass, so once or twice a week will have to do for a while._

_Anyways, I thought I'd tell you a funny little secret — I am, for all intents and purposes, a lesbian. I've slept with men before (and don't mind making out with them that much or whatever), but the whole penis thing is just not all that enjoyable for me. And yet... this chapter. HILARIOUS._

_Enjoy, read, follow, favorite, review. PM me anytime and let me know what you think — tell me it sucks or that you think I got these characters completely wrong. Tell me that I missed some super-important thing. Maybe I can work it into the story and you'll be able to say, "Ooh, I thought of that!" Tell me you love it and that you can't wait to read more. WHATEVS._

_Thanks for reading, guys, and stay warm._

* * *

**Ch. 32 - Part II**

* * *

It may not be Charlie Tango, but I do so love helicopter rides with Christian.

"Hm, this is not doing a good job of keeping my mind distracted from sex," I muse. Christian finishes strapping me into my bucket seat, letting his hands linger around my breasts for a moment.

"I'm starting to think you like me tying you up, Mrs. Grey." His smirk sends a warm feeling shooting down the middle of my body and I exhale quickly.

He climbs over me, letting his pelvis pass within an inch of my nose. I struggle against my harness to no avail. He's playing with me.

Our tour of Manhattan takes us up the East River and the Harlem River, down the Hudson, around the Battery, then back up to the helipad. It's spectacular and I spend most of the trip with my mouth hanging wide open. By the time we reach Chelsea, night threatens and the city lights up before our eyes.

"I couldn't have asked for a better way to see New York," I say as Christian releases me, my arms flying around his neck in a giant bear hug.

He's kneeling between my knees and leans into me, letting his lips glide up my neck, over my chin, and finally landing on my lips. He pulls back when I feel I can barely stand it. "I'm glad you liked it."

* * *

The next day, I feel so rejuvenated. After the Hyde incident, I've been getting tons of sleep, but it wasn't until Christian's "therapy" session that I started really feeling rested. Amazing what a little "O" in your life can do.

I was so tired when we got home last night, I all but fell asleep fully clothed. Christian helped me get undressed and though I'm sure he wasn't trying to make it super-sexy-undress-Ana-time, that's sort of what it turned into. Thankfully for us both, I was too tired to respond much so we didn't get into another fight about how we shouldn't have sex but really want to.

Christian is already up — _and cooking! —_ when I stumble into the kitchen. Our townhouse has an elevator for no apparent reason, though I am not complaining. If it didn't, Lord knows I'd have a lot more trouble getting around in my condition. As it is, I find the narrow doorways troublesome and the unfamiliar surroundings don't help my poor navigation skills.

The kitchen, oddly on the fourth floor, has a huge half-circle window almost the width of the entire building that overlooks the river, the 59th Street Bridge, and Queens. It's sort of spectacular and since it faces East, the morning light streams in, making every glossy surface shine and throw reflections to all the otherwise shadowy corners.

Now, _what_ Christian is cooking, I'm not quite sure. It involves eggs, burnt toast, and shredded cheese. It smells awful, but I sidle up behind him, kissing his naked back between his shoulder blades, run my hands around his waist, and say, "Smells good, baby."

He chuckles. What a simply intoxicating sound. "No, it doesn't, but you're kind to say so."

One of the many great advantages of being in New York is the incredibly decreased level of security. Under the assumption that Hyde is in Seattle and doesn't necessarily know where we are, we've got Taylor staying in the house in the first floor guest room, the housekeeper who comes by in the afternoon, and several contracted suits who don't ever come in the house. Because there's a plethora of delis, bodegas, pizza joints, and, his favorite, bagel shops within three blocks, Taylor doesn't bother coming upstairs. Ever.

This gave me the opportunity to do something I'd wanted to for quite some time.

Christian turns around to give me a kiss and stops. He's not breathing, he's not moving, he doesn't make a sound. I smile and turn to sit at the kitchen table, grabbing the newspaper and pouring myself a glass of orange juice.

Casually, I tuck into my OJ and start reading about the weather.

"What... What do you think you're doing?" he finally stammers.

I look up from the paper, smiling. "Reading the paper, baby."

I can't quite tell yet if he's angry, aroused, affronted... His jaw flaps a few times and I turn back to the paper.

"No, Anastasia," he says, as calmly as he can clearly muster. "I mean, what are you wearing?"

I don't look up. _That's right, play it cool_, my inner goddess coaches. "Nothing." I take a sip of my juice.

"I can see that. And _why_ are you completely butt-ass naked, Anastasia?" So far, he's not moved an inch. I'm wondering if I maybe pushed him too far.

"Because I can," he smiles as I hurl his own words back at him. If this is what victory feels like, it's really turning me on.

"Mrs. Grey," he turns off the burner. "Just because you _can_ doesn't mean you should." He takes a step towards me and I return to the paper.

"But, Mr. Grey, it's just so damn fun."

He takes one more step. "You know, this would be a whole lot more fun if I was allowed to touch you, Mrs. Grey."

"You are allowed to touch me, Mr. Grey," I say. "You're just not allowed to fuck me."

He inhales sharply but takes another step in my direction.

"The way I see it, Mr. Grey," I turn the page. "You've helped me come, which was highly enjoyable but unfortunately had the side-effect of some pain afterwards." I refold the paper noisily. "But I haven't made you come since we were in Portland last," I lower the paper and think, eyes to the ceiling for a moment. "And that was the day after my birthday, so that would be... Six and a half weeks ago." I pick the paper back up and pretend to read about Kim Kardashian. "I believe you're due for a reward of some sort."

Christian is standing about two feet from me. I look up innocently from my paper. "Won't you join me, Mr. Grey?"

"Anastasia, you know I don't like to keep track of these sorts of things — tit for tat is not my style."

"Oh, but I thought you liked my tits, Mr. Grey." I set the paper back down on the table and stand up. We're within inches of each other and Christian can't help but look down at my body hungrily. I can tell he has it bad — his usual calm control in all things sexual has seemingly evaporated. He has almost completely lost his impassivity.

"That is, unless you've been cheating?"

His eyes shoot up to mine. He's hurt, angry, shocked, but most of all, he's defensive. "Ana, you can't think I... I would never!"

I smile, "No, I don't think you cheated on me. I think you might have, uh... _Cheated_ though." I wink suggestively.

He blanches. _He really has lost his poker face_. "You mean," he starts.

I start to circle him, running my finger tips around his torso. "Have you been touching yourself without my permission, Mr. Grey?"

He swallows hard.

I come around to his front again, mock horror plastered across my face. "Mr. Grey, you'll go blind." I giggle at myself.

He croaks, "I haven't."

_What?_ What full-grown man with a libido like Christian Grey's can avoid jerking off for this long? Jesus, his balls must be bright blue and ready to fall off.

"Really?" All my playfulness is gone.

He shakes his head and I feel this terrible sense of guilt.

I decide to keep going with my little game I'd planned. It's all the more important now that I know he doesn't just want this, he needs this.

I take his hand from his side and lightly run my fingers along his palm.

"Would you like to touch me with this, Mr. Grey? Would you like me to touch you while you touch me, Mr. Grey?"

He's completely motionless, but I take this as a good sign.

"Would you like me to make you come with my mouth, Sir?"

He nods slowly, mouth slightly open. And that's it. I've got him.

I lift his hands up to my breasts, my hands over his, kneading my pert flesh harshly.

With my leg in a cast, I knew this was going to be a bit of a logistical challenge, but I had worked this out in my head and I knew how it would work.

I place my hands on his hips and push him gently backwards until his lower back is pressed against the kitchen island. His hands are exploring now, running over my chest, around my back, down my spine, cupping and squeezing my behind. It's distracting as all hell, but I know it's helping him. I untie the string on his pajama pants and let them fall to the floor. He's not wearing any underwear, so he springs forth into my hands.

"Up." I say and he gets the idea. He removes his hands from my skin to help himself get onto the high counter, placing his crotch at a far better height for me. "Handicap accessible," I mutter and look up at him.

I push my hands against his chest, and he sits back, propping himself up on his elbows. This will do nicely.

Keeping my eyes locked on his, I support myself with my hands against the edge of the counter and touch my lips softly to the head of his penis. His head falls back and he groans.

"Shit, Ana."

Encouraged, I take his whole head in my mouth, circling my touch around it, sucking gently and letting out a little sound of my own. The vibration from my moan through my lips and tongue makes him shudder. My mouth is watering and I take his full length slowly. I can feel myself getting very wet and move my legs a little to alleviate some of my own need.

As I start my smooth, slow pace up and down his shaft, circling his sensitive tip each time, I shift my weight to one arm and let my other hand cup his balls gently. He's so close already, I can feel him pulsing against my tongue. My speed increases as does his breathing, his heart rate, his need. All this, but he won't let go. I can't speak to him without stopping, I can't tell him to release.

So I hum, the only way I can communicate right now. He throws his head back once more, thrusting into me as I taste his climax. I squeeze my hand slightly and he just keeps going. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he screams, over and over, each "fuck" matching a convulsion.

After what seems like minutes, he stills. I stand up straight and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. He's completely collapsed, _butt-ass naked_on the kitchen counter.

"Jesus, Ana, you're gonna kill me one of these days."

* * *

_Do you think they're having too much sexy time? Let me know! I'm kind of self-conscious about writing it to begin with, but now I'm worried that it's becoming all about the non-sex sexy time..._


	13. Snow Days

_First chapter today is short and sweet. This freak October snow storm _did_ actually happen. It was one of the coldest nights of my life and I was far more covered-up than most of the women at the bars I visited that night._

_The next chapter is forth-coming. It should be up before I leave for dinner this evening._

_Enjoy and have a great day!_

* * *

**Ch 33**

* * *

After we'd both showered, actually put some clothes on, I'd thrown out Christian's attempt at breakfast, and we'd had the pancakes I made us as a replacement, it was already noon. I felt terrible about wasting half the day away, but Christian assured me we could come back to New York whenever we want — I shouldn't feel like we're only here for so long... It's another one of our homes. That makes me feel giddy, metropolitan, and fancy.

I'm bicoastal.

We'd spent most of the next few days visiting museums (Christian told me the Museum of Sex would have to wait until our next visit), eating incredibly fancy meals, and avoiding having sex. This was proving to be a more difficult task than it had been. It was like now that the orgasm beast was out of the bag, it couldn't be stuffed back into it. The bag was gone. Obliterated. The beast had _eaten _the bag. All I wanted was to be naked, tied up, spanked, and then fucked. All the time.

_Jesus, I'm getting wet just thinking about it now._

We were going to go back to Seattle last night, but there's supposed to be snow today! I've never seen falling snow — not _real _snow anyway — so I begged Christian to let us stay one more day. We could take a red eye back and I'd still make my doctor's appointment at noon on Saturday.

The reprieve from our troubles was so welcome that part of me didn't want to go back to our life. Apparently, the thought had also crossed Christian's mind.

"Would you ever consider us moving her full-time?" he mused, raking his fingers through my hair to the ends, curling them against the tops of my breasts after the Great Naked Kitchen Blow Job Fiasco of 2011. That's what we were calling it now.

The question had been weighing on me the rest of the week. I just didn't know. It would mean leaving his family, leaving Kate, leaving SIP... Christian assured me that Grey Publishing could easily have its main office in New York, but I wasn't sure that was what I wanted. It would bring me closer to my mother's, but the trade-off would be that I'd be so much further from Ray.

I'd gone through so much change in the last year and a half — I wasn't sure I could handle more right now. That said, the possibility of being rid of Hyde, of starting fresh was so tempting.

I was on the verge of having panic attacks when I thought of dealing with the whole Hyde situation again. Christian was getting almost hourly updates from Seattle, but I told him that unless there was anything new or our friends and family were in immediate danger, I didn't want to know.

This was such a change from my standard _modus operandi _that Christian could only nod. Making him speechless was not something I did often. Well, not something I did often and managed to keep my clothes on.

"You ready, Ana?" Christian asks as he comes into the room. He is decked out in thick leather and rubber boots, a poofy black jacket, waterproof pants, leather gloves, wool hat, plaid muffler. It's probably the least sexy thing I've ever seen him in and he still looks completely edible.

I'm sure I haven't fared much better, though. My winter gear is a bit overboard I'm afraid. My waterproof leather boots stop just below my knee, where my white snow pants blouse over slightly like riding pants. I'm wearing a billion layers on top — silk long underwear, Under Armor, wool turtleneck, cashmere sweater, zipped fleece underjacket, and then my North Face ski jacket — not to mention the white hat, mittens, neckwarmer, and, of course, electric hand- and foot-warmers.

I take my Chapstick out of my pocket and spread it liberally across my lips, unable to use my fingers, barely able to move my head.

"As ready as I'll ever be," I enthuse.

Taylor is waiting for us downstairs, much more refined in a long black wool overcoat, scarf, gloves, and hat. Well, he's not planning on making a fool of himself rolling around in the snow, is he?

"You look very warm, Mrs. Grey," he says as he holds the door open for me.

The cold wind hits me like a shock and I look back at Christian, questioning. He nods and I leap out onto the sidewalk, squealing with delight.

It's snowing! Real, full-on, actual snow. It's the coldest I've been in years, but it's snowing, which somehow makes it all worth-while. There's almost no accumulation on the sidewalks, but I can see a light dusting covering the parked cars and the security teammates who've been waiting outside have perfect white flakes in their hair.

"It's not quite enough for sledding, but we can at least go to the Park," Christian says, following me out the door, smiling at my childish wonder.

The eight of us (me, Christian, Taylor, and the five security personnel) walk west down the sidewalk towards Central Park. Actually, I do something far more akin to bouncing, but that's neither here nor there.

My arm is hooked in Christian's and I feel so blissfully complete like this.

Maybe this could be home.

* * *

Well, my plan sucked.

Staying in New York for twenty-four more hours was a terrible idea and Christian is a wimp for giving in to my demands. What the hell do I know about aviation and weather and practicality?

"Snowpocalypse 2011" turned out to be a more severe storm than anticipated and the jet would have had trouble getting off the ground... If the airport had stayed open. _All _the New York City airports closed around 7pm.

It is Halloween weekend and every bar we tried to go to is packed with drunk, freezing, nearly-naked college students and 20-somethings trying to warm up, get drunker, and get laid. It makes me crazy to think they are my age. I could have been one of them if things had gone just a little differently in my life. I got into NYU and if I'd been able to afford it, I could have been one of these obnoxious slutty cats or slutty pirates or slutty... _Is she supposed to be a slutty clown fish?_

"Let's just go home," I say.

"You give up so easily, Mrs. Grey." Christian chuckles. "I thought you wanted to hit 'the bars' and go to a real Irish pub and," he smiles broadly. "Give me your panties in the bathroom."

"Christian, I never said anything about my..." I stop. He's laughing at me. Oh, Christian.

At least it's starting to feel like we're back to normal.

"Let's at least go to a nice place with no college students. I'm sick of all this."

A half-hour later, we're completely relaxed in a warm, dark bar with a live jazz ensemble plugging away in the corner, with glasses of good, expensive wine in our hands. The bar reminds me so vividly of the Red Room of Pain — the lighting, the color of the walls, even the chesterfield couch we're sitting on. Is this the _same_ couch?

"Why do I feel the need to call you 'Sir' suddenly?" I mewl at him.

Christian's eyes darken and he leans into my neck. He nuzzles his nose against me and whispers in my ear, "This is my favorite bar. I wanted everything in there to remind me of here." His teeth graze my earlobe softly. "I'm glad you noticed."

I can feel my pulse quickening and excuse myself immediately. I hurry off to the ladies' room to catch my breath. It's a huge expanse of a room, with gray slate covering the floors and walls. The ceiling is an even darker gray and each of the toilet stalls is actually an individual room. I look at myself in the mirror and splash little water on my face.

"Keep it together, Steele," I order myself.

"It's Grey, not Steele."

I gasp when I look up and see Christian in the mirror, standing behind me.

"I see your stalker tendencies are still going strong."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mrs. _Grey_," he starts, heading for a stall. "This is the men's room."

I look around, panicked, as a middle-aged man heads out of another stall and, upon seeing me, skips the hand-washing, hurrying out the door.

_Shit_, I must have been more flustered than I thought when running to the bathroom.

I hear the toilet flush and Christian reemerges from the stall. He walks right next to me to wash his hands and slips something in my purse, sitting next to the basin. I peek in, to find his boxer briefs!

"Christian," I scold. "He smiles lightly back at me before drying his hands and leaving.

Two can play at this game.


	14. Bathtime

_The story has just passed 9000 views, and all in one week! I'm **ecstatic**._

_Second chapter of the evening and it is a doozy._

_I'd already started writing this chapter when I posted the one earlier today, so I'd already answered Charhamblin's question... : )_

_Again, I'm going to be posting a couple times a week for a while._

_I'm contemplating writing additional stories. I have a list in my phone of the different ideas I've got! Maybe by the end of the week I'll have one of them started._

_I hope you all enjoy this. It's got a little something for everyone (esp. for Shadoecoon)._

* * *

**Chapter 34**

* * *

The snow gear is not my sexiest look, I'll admit. I'm completely covered except for an area from just below my mouth to just above my eyebrows. When we're finally back at the townhouse, we strip, somewhat painfully and awkwardly I might add, in the downstairs hallway. We abandon boots, coats, hats, gloves, scarves, and sweaters. We're both standing there in our socks, pants, and long underwear, hair looking like hell, faces pink from the cold.

My cast really needs to come off soon. Thursday is my appointment to get it removed and I'm thinking about calling the orthopedist to find out if it could _possibly_ be sooner. As it is, my ski pants are sized far larger than necessary to accommodate it.

I hobble over to the elevator and Christian follows, somehow making cold weather gear look sexy. Maybe it's because I know he's not wearing anything underneath.

As we rise in the elevator, I look up at him. The electricity between us is more potent in enclosed spaces, and it's like a thunderstorm every time we travel in an elevator.

"Christian, do you remember the first time we slept together?"

He smiles and nods, clearly replaying all the events of that night in his mind.

"Do you remember the next morning, when I met your mother?"

A small laugh escapes his lips. He nods again.

"Do you remember what I was wearing that morning?"

He furrows his brow slightly. "If memory serves, it was a light green blouse, black jacket, jeans, and sneakers." I smile. His memory is very precise.

"Do you remember what I was wearing underneath, though?"

The doors ping open and I hobble towards the bedroom, knowing he's standing there stunned, locked in place with his mouth open.

"Did you..." he starts. I turn around and just smile at him.

"Only one way to find out Mr. Grey."

He growls and strides over to me. His hands are on my hips, pulling my pants off faster than I imagined possible. He takes in a quick, loud breath when he sees his boxer briefs underneath.

"God. Damn. Fucking. No. Sex. Order," he grumbles.

* * *

We don't make it back to Seattle until Sunday evening. I'd been so calm and relaxed during our trip, but the minute we touch down at Sea-Tac I become my standard-issue bundle of nerves. Christian has changed, too. He's far more business-like with me and he's on his Blackberry before we've made it to the gate. He's barking orders into it, answering emails, and yelling at Taylor all the while.

When we deplane into the terminal, we're greeted by around thirty security personnel. I try to give Christian my most serious glare, but he isn't even looking at me. He's helping me support my weight until an airport employee delivers a wheelchair, at which point I sit down and Christian pushes me like a wild maniac through the busy airport. I feel like a piece of luggage.

We don't wait for our bags, but just pile into the Audi SUV before speeding off. Christian's still on his phone, I'm sure with Welch, and I've just about had enough. There are two SUVs full of security ahead of us and two behind. I stare out the window and notice the red station wagon next to us is filled with muscular men in suits and sunglasses. _More security!_

"Christian," I say, but he just holds his finger up, continuing to shout into his phone.

"What kind of a Mickey Mouse show are we running here? I thought I told you I wanted everything secure _before_ we landed. Instead, what we got was a bunch of academy dropouts in cheap suits drawing attention to us!"

My patience is running thin. "Christian." My tone is stern.

He completely ignores me this time.

"What the fuck am I paying you for? I expect you to do exactly one thing: to protect my wife and you have failed at every turn."

That's it. I lower my window, grab the phone out of his hand and, before he can stop me, throw it from the car.

He's completely flabbergasted. I get the sense that he really, truly doesn't know how to react. Fear, confusion, anger, guilt all twist his face.

"Christian, I didn't ask for this. It has to stop."

He opens his mouth to speak, but I put my finger up.

"I am an adult. I don't need to be treated like a child. Neither do I need to be treated like an asset you need to insure. I am not a thing. I am your _wife_."

Well, that did it.

We sit in silence for the rest of the trip, staring at each other, neither backing down. It's a grand game of chicken. I can't soften even a bit or I know I'll lose.

I can see my life laying before me: security following me everywhere, unable to return to my job, to my friends, to my family. I'd be a prisoner in our home. I would have to get permission from my husband to go to the movies. I would resent him and our marriage would become a complete shambles. I would feel like he only wanted to hold me captive and use me for sex. He would think I was trying to escape from him or that I had a death wish every time I asked to leave the safety of our apartment.

It was a nightmare and I can't let it happen. I can't let him do this to us.

On the elevator ride up to the apartment, I refuse to even glance in Christian's direction. The spark is still there, but I choose to ignore it.

I step into the great room and proceed directly to our bedroom, where I shut myself into the bathroom and draw myself a bath.

All the problems I'd been ignoring for the last week are biting at my heels. Everything seems so much worse than it was when we left and now with Christian acting like this, I just want to give up.

I feel my chest getting tighter and tighter, my breath no longer coming easily. The steam from my bath is filling the room, making it feel smaller. Sobs are spurting from my mouth and my eyes burn with tears. I fall down to the tile floor with a hard smack and cry out. The tub is overflowing, spilling to the floor. I can't see anymore, the tears blurring my vision. I feel the cool tile and the warm water from the tub against my cheek. All I can hear is the water, all I can see is a blur, and all I can smell and taste is the trickle of blood from the inside of my cheek.

"What the fuck happened, Ana!" Christian is here. I'm in his arms and I feel like everything will be fine for a moment. But then I remember his plan to ruin our marriage, to drive a wedge between us with security and rules and restrictions and fear, to turn me into one of his quiet, captive subs.

I push against him with all my strength to no effect. Finally, in a last-stitch attempt to get free, I pull my hand back and slap it clean across Christian's worried face.

And it works. I'm free of his arms. I struggle to my feet, desperate to catch my breath. I need to get out of this room, somewhere I can breathe cold, clean, crisp air. Then I'll be able to think.

I hobble, dodder, stumble back to the bedroom and fling the glass doors to our balcony open. I lurch to the railing and gasp. The city is bustling, moving under me and I feel myself starting to calm slightly.

Why did we come back here? It's ruined everything. We were happy. _Delay, delay, delay_, I think. It was working fine.

"Baby, come back inside." Christian's voice sounds unnatural, colored with terror. Something's wrong, really wrong. I turn my head to look at him. Very wrong.

His arms and hands are open in a non-threatening gesture as he takes baby steps towards me, like he's trying to calm a spooked horse.

"Baby, just take a step back."

I don't understand and cling tighter to the rail. I'm leaning against it with all my weight. I feel cornered.

"I can't keep doing this with you, Christian," I say but it doesn't sound like my voice. I sound crazed, unbalanced.

"Just come back in, Ana. I can't talk to you like this." He's inching towards me, his voice frenzied but soothing. "I can't lose you."

My breath hitches looking at him. I've never seen him look so powerless. Have I broken him? He looks as awful as I feel. All of a sudden, I feel unsteady, like I might fall. The height overwhelms me. I'm dizzy and scared. I rush to him, pressing myself fully against his body.

His arms wind around me and he backs us up to the bed. It's stable, immovable. We cry in each other's arms.

* * *

I feel safe again finally when I wake, too hot, swaddled in Christian's arms and legs.

My mouth is dry and I have to use the bathroom, but I don't want to wake him. I roll over in his arms so I'm facing him and place a soft kiss on his chest.

I know he's not trying to suffocate me, to ruin our marriage, to make me feel trapped. Now, in the light of day, I can see this clearly. I know he's just trying to protect me and feels so desperately helpless. I'm not making it any easier with my seemingly constant defiance. When I think about his love for me, I feel safe, secure, calm.

It's when the panic sets in, though. When I start to think of all the things I have to deal with, all the dangers around us, all the pain I've felt and all the pain I've caused... That's when I lose my mind. I can't think at all and I just see this malevolent force instead of my husband.

That, in itself, scares the crap out of me.

I ease myself out of bed and head into the bathroom. God, what a disaster area. The floor is covered with now-dirty white fluffy towels, which I guess Christian threw down to soak up the spilled water from my failed bath.

I reach into the icy water and pull the plug out, letting the water swirl down the drain. I watch patiently then replace the plug and draw a new, hot bath, dripping lavender oil in after a couple minutes.

After I've properly wrapped up my cast in plastic, I lower myself into the steaming water and exhale deeply.

I feel all my muscles relax slightly and decide that this is the best opportunity I'm going to find to think about all my problems calmly. The water might help me keep my head.

First, there's Christian and all the security. He's being far too controlling. I'm starting to worry there's going to be a huge knock-down fight when I tell him I want to return to work. I've been out for months now, which is bad enough, but it's complicated by the fact that I'm supposedly taking over the firm.

I decide that I'll actively work from home this week and let Christian acclimate to the idea. Then I can discuss with him my desire next week to go back to the office in my editorial capacity. My role as CEO or Creative Director or whatever euphemism we come up with for "boss" will have to wait until the new year. This will give everyone in the company, not just me, to adjust to the change. New Year, New Start, right?

Good, that's a reasonable and clear conclusion. I mull over some of the details for a while until I'm comfortable that I have a realistic plan.

Increasing the degree of difficulty, I consider Jack Hyde. How far do I think he'll go to get back at all of us? He was rejected by me, fired, and blackballed. The kick in the balls he got from me was rough, but I don't know the extent of the beating I'm sure he got from Christian and Taylor immediately after. Even so, how was that enough to kidnap Mia, blackmail me, and then beat the ever-loving shit out of me? I don't see the justification. He _is _crazy, but still. And what was Elizabeth's connection? What did he have on her?

Well, he's now nearly killed me, drugged and kidnapped Mia, scared everyone in our family to death, and escaped with $5 million in unmarked, non-consecutive bills. Why contact us again? Didn't he get what he wanted? Why isn't he on his tropical island with his rain and his fruity drink and his malaria? Why send the letter? Why call me? I get that he's fucking with us, but... Why? Insanity doesn't seem to be enough of a reason for me.

Maybe that's why Christian's been so crazy about the security. He must have figured that there's something we're missing, too. I'll try to be more understanding and accepting of the extra security Christian's requested.

I idly wonder if anything has happened with Hyde while we've been out of town, but I shake my head and stamp that thought down. No use wondering. I'll have to just ask Christian.

Next up: Elizabeth. My breathing picks up just slightly and I can't help but think that I'm not ready for this subject. Beyond the questions I've already asked myself abstractly about her — Why was she beholden to Jack? Were there clues I missed before? — There's also guilt I'm going to have to eventually face. I take a deep breath.

_I killed her._

It was self-defense. It was an accident. I wasn't aiming for her.

They sound like excuses. They're not really helpful so I brush them aside. The truth is she was my coworker, my colleague, maybe even my friend, and I shot her dead. I shot her dead with Leila's gun.

It suddenly strikes me that Detective Clark never asked me about the gun or where I found it. I don't have a license or a gun registered in my name, so he must have known something was amiss. Jack has the gun now, so it wasn't recovered, but I wonder if Clark didn't ask because I've been through enough and he knows it was self-defense, or if Christian "dealt" with it like he usually deals with things — by throwing money at the problem.

I take a deep, long breath and sink deeper into the water. It's starting to cool off and this no longer seems like a good idea. _Delay, delay, delay_ has been working just fine for some time. After yesterday's flip-out, though, I have to take proactive measures to ensure it doesn't happen again. I never want to make Christian that scared again.

Okay, so next subject: my... my...

_Miscarriage_.

I shudder. And that's all the thinking on that subject I can handle.

I hastily scramble out of the tub and let it drain again. I wrap myself in my bathrobe and hobble back to bed, feeling I've made real progress.

I have rescheduled my cast removal for later today and it makes me smile as I slide back into my husband's waiting arms. It's a big old pain in the ass and I'm ready to be rid of it. Maybe then we can disobey doctor's orders more effectively.


	15. Taylor and the Seven Dwarves

_Yesterday there was no post and I'm hoping none of you cried yourselves to sleep. Tonight there's going to be two chapters, though I'm not quite done with the second one yet. That'll be forthcoming likely in the next hour._

_So, this story is about to hit 100 followers! I've thought about offering a small prize to the 100th follower but I don't have a clue as to what it should be. Any ideas?_

_Again, thank you for reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing. I devour the reviews, but have fallen a little behind in replying to them. I am trying to address your concerns in the writing, though, guys!_

* * *

_**Ch 35**_

* * *

Freedom is a glorious thing. It's almost as though all sensation, which I didn't know was missing, has been restored to my leg. It's the best feeling in the world.

Well, maybe not the _best_.

I walk semi-confidently out of the orthopedist's office, beaming from ear to ear. My leg is a little unsteady, but I can walk. I can stride. I can stroll, saunter, march, wander, sashay... I am no longer limited to hobbling! How liberating.

Taylor and the Seven Dwarves, the burly bodyguards who follow me constantly but whose names I haven't bothered to learn, are sitting in the waiting room, reading various magazines. Taylor is holding a copy of GQ, Sleepy is reading Parenting, Dumpy is reading a tattered copy of Seattle, Brawny has Home & Garden (the selection must have been running thin), Bashful is flipping through Vanity Fair, and Huey, Duey, and Luey each have old issues of Cosmopolitan. I'm pretty sure some of those names aren't canonical, but I never really cared for Snow White.

Taylor spots me and smiles almost as broadly as me. He drops his magazine on the table and stands up. "Mrs. Grey," he says and like that the Seven Dwarves are on their feet at attention.

"Taylor," I reply and do a little spin to show off my newfound mobility. The Dwarves seem unimpressed, barely giving a glance in my direction as they scramble. Huey and Bashful hit the stairs, Dumpy and Sleepy take the hallway, and Duey heads to the elevator. Luey and and Brawny stick with us.

I take Taylor's proffered arm and, like a true gentleman, he doesn't comment when I put most of my weight on him. I may have lost the cast, but my leg is still weak and bruised.

The elevator is a bit cramped with Taylor, Dumpy, Sleepy, Duey (or is it Huey or Luey? I can't really tell the three of them apart), and me all packed in. It's more than a little claustrophobic, but we're doing okay until the doors open on the fifth floor. There's a little old lady with her tiny dog waiting for the elevator, and there's probably enough room for her to ride with us. I start to shift over, but Duey says, "Sorry, ma'am, you'll have to take the next one," as he presses the _Door Close_ button repeatedly.

I swing around on him. "What do you think would happen if that little old lady got on this elevator? We'd all plummet to our deaths? Do you think she's an enemy spy?"

He doesn't reply but just stares at the doors. Is chivalry completely dead?

I haven't even been back in Seattle twenty-four hours and already I'm sick of this security thing. I feel a bit like a whining child, but these are not pleasant people to be around. They listen in on my phone conversations, they lurk in doorways, they follow me everywhere. And I mean _everywhere. _Earlier this morning, Brawny followed me into the ladies' room. When I asked him to leave, he said, "With all due respect, Mrs. Grey, I don't work for you."

By the time we get back to Escala, my knee is sore. I haven't walked on it in six weeks, so it's no shock, but I'm just ready for everything to stop hurting. Maybe then I can deal with my husband. I think back to our fight this morning and groan, flopping back on the bed.

"Ana, baby, wake up, I need to talk to you before I leave for work."

I rub my eyes with the back of my hand, not realizing I'd fallen asleep again after my bath. I blink at him twice and smile mildly as my eyes adjust to the light.

"I want you to make an appointment to see Flynn," he says.

"What about?"

He runs both his hands through his shower-damp hair. "Are you kidding, Anastasia? You had a full-on mental breakdown less than twelve hours ago."

I sit up, no longer tired. "I did not have a 'full-on mental breakdown'! I had a panic attack. It doesn't mean I need my head shrunk by an overpaid charlatan, Christian." I'm yelling. I hate yelling. I don't know why I'm yelling, but I am definitely yelling.

"Listen, I don't want to have this argument again. After everything that's happened, I think it's a good idea to check in with him. Hell, it doesn't have to be Flynn. If you don't feel comfortable discussing this stuff with my doctor, we can get you a different one..."

I cut him off. "Discussing _what_ exactly? What is it you think I need to discuss, huh? I am just stressed out and tired."

"You could discuss the baby," he says quietly, seriously.

I am so not ready for this. _Aw, hell no._ Come on, Inner Bitch, it's your time to shine.

"There is no fucking baby, Christian! There never _was_ a baby. There was the _possibility _of a baby. There was a thing that was going to be a baby. But there was no baby. There was a blip. There was _my_ Little Blip. _Our_ Little Blip. You didn't want it and now it's gone, so there's nothing to fucking talk about, okay?"

And now we're officially fighting. Up until now, Christian's voice has been calm and even, measured, controlled, but no longer.

"God damn it, Ana, you _have _to talk to someone. I understand you don't want to talk to me. I get it. I was not overly enthusiastic about the prospect of you being pregnant, so I get it. I've told you a hundred times that I had just needed a day or two to adjust, that I was excited about the baby, that I was happy you were pregnant, that I am devastated that we lost it..."

"_We_ didn't lose it, Christian. _I _did."

"No, Ana, _we _lost it. It was _our_ child and neither one of us will ever..." He stops. He's choked up and can't finish his thought. I can't even let my mind wander towards the end of what his sentence might have been.

"I'm constantly surrounded by people I don't know and who carry around concealed weapons. I'm not allowed to see my friends or family, go to work, go to the movies, go for a freaking _walk_. I want to have a normal life, Christian! Nothing about this is normal."

He reaches out to touch my face and I flinch.

That does it. His eyes widen and anger spreads across his face.

"I'm not normal, Ana. You knew that coming in. Now, see a professional about your fucking issues because I can't keep doing this."

And he storms out.

That was almost six hours ago and I'm still fuming mad. I suppose the only way to get him off my back about this is to call Flynn already. I resent the idea that I need to be fixed, but I could always just go see Flynn. I don't have to talk to him about my "problems" I suppose. I could just talk about the weather or the Mariners or what I'm thinking of having for lunch. It'll appease Christian and Flynn can't tell him what we talked about. It's the _going_ that's important. He needs to feel like he's helping, like he can control something, I guess, even if that something is me.

I love him to death, but he's really pushing me on this. He's pushing me on the security, on work, and on my mental health. Our usual way of sorting out or issues is off-limits until the 9th, so I can't see how this will end right now.

A better argument for ignoring doctor's orders has never been made.


	16. Untenable

_I didn't really get a chance to reread or edit this, so take it with a grain of salt. I was a little rushed and for that I am truly sorry. I hope to have time to update again tomorrow night, but it could be as late as Thursday!_

_Thanks again everyone!_

* * *

**Ch. 36**

* * *

"The last time I saw a shrink was when Ray and Mom got divorced. They decided that I might be having 'trouble' with their decision and so I should see a counselor three times a week. What a complete disaster that was."

Flynn shifts in his seat. He jots down a note and looks back at me, relaxed. At least one of us is relaxed!

"And how did that go?"

"It was a complete fucking disaster, Flynn. I don't really want to talk about it." I try for happy and enthusiastic. "How's Rhian?"

"She's good, but we're not really here to talk about me, Anastasia."

I roll my eyes. I'm starting to question my decision to give in to Christian on this. It's been two days since our big fight and the situation has become entirely untenable. Christian won't talk to me about anything but seeking professional "help", much less consider my plan to relieve our issues through physical exertion. We've still got another week before I get full approval for our extracurricular activities, and I need us to be fully prepped and ready when that day comes. If this is what it takes for us to be on good terms again, so be it.

"Listen, Flynn, this is all well and good, and I'm sorry to be wasting your time, but I don't need to be here. I'm fine."

He reveals nothing. His expression is inscrutable. "Christian tells me you had a panic attack on Sunday. Why don't you tell me about that?"

I huff and cross my arms. "Did he now? What else has my husband told you?"

He smiles just slightly at me. "He's worried about you. He thinks you're internalizing everything and won't talk to him about your fears."

"Well, maybe I would if he would talk to me about anything other than how I'm unbalanced," I mutter under my breath.

"Did he say that?" This guy has super-sonic hearing.

"Not in so many words," I admit. "He's been completely unyielding on the idea of me coming here. It's absolutely ridiculous. I'm not crazy."

"No one is suggesting you are, Anastasia."

I sigh. He is trying to get me to talk about my "feelings", to "open up to him", to "dialogue openly". I can see right through him. "I know what you're doing and it's not going to work."

"What am I trying to do?" He seems genuinely puzzled.

"Listen, I've tried the therapy thing before and it just doesn't work for me. I'm really glad you're able to help Christian, but he has serious things to work out. That's not me. I am dealing with my problems like I always do — by myself."

He makes a note. I know better than to ask what he's writing. It makes you seem desperate and paranoid.

"We don't have to do therapy, Anastasia." He puts down his notebook and moves to sit next to me on the couch. He sinks into the soft leather and leans back, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. "As far as I'm concerned, our session is done, but the rest of your security detail won't be back for another forty minutes. So, how was your trip? I hear you guys had quite a snowstorm."

I blink back at him. His entire demeanor has entirely changed. He's no longer Dr. Flynn, the therapist, he's suddenly transformed into John Flynn, our family friend. It's amazing and entirely disarming.

"It was great. I'd never been to New York before," I say.

We slide into an easy conversation. He asks about the townhouse and getting my cast off. I tell him about the Seven Dwarves and their disrespect for personal space and old women. We laugh about Christian's complete failure at cooking breakfast. I'm surprised when the alarm clock beeps in the corner.

"Ah, time's up," John says, standing up. He's back to therapist mode. "Taylor and the team should be back now."

I grab my bag and open the door. Yep, eight men are clustered in the too-small waiting room, eyeing me.

"Mrs. Grey," Taylor says, offering his arm again. This has become our new routine.

"Taylor," I say in greeting. I turn back to Dr. Flynn before leaving. "Dr. Flynn," I say.

"Mrs. Grey," he replies.

We start to head out when he blurts out, "Why don't you come back tomorrow. It'll keep Mr. Grey from accusing you of not trying."

I smile and nod. "Same time?"

He nods back. "Sounds good, see you then."

* * *

"Hi, Christian! I'm in here," I call when I hear his heavy footsteps through the great room. I'm working in the library and am desperate for him to be in a good mood again finally.

He lurks in the doorway, leaning against the frame, quietly brooding.

"Guess what I did today," I say casually.

He raises his eyebrows just slightly, asking the question without having to speak to me.

"I saw Flynn."

What I can only describe as relief washes over his face.

He comes bounding into the room and pulls me from my chair, kissing me fully on the mouth. "Thank you," he whispers.

I blush under his gaze. "It's okay, but I don't want you bullying me like this to get your way in the future."

He nods. "How did it go," he asks, lifting me onto my desk and delicately planting kisses up my jaw slowly.

"Oh, you know," I say between breaths. "It was fine I guess." He sucks on my earlobe, making me moan slightly. "I'm seeing him again tomorrow, actually."

Christian pulls back to look at me.

"I think you deserve a reward for that, Mrs. Grey." His eyes darken and my pulse quickens.

Thank you, Dr. Flynn.

He spends the next three hours entirely focused on my body with his mouth and hands until I lose count of how many times I climax. With the cast gone, I'm able to fully devote myself to my orgasms and they just flow one into the other.

We lay in each other's arms, completely naked across the desk in his office, spent, and smiling. I sit up and turn his computer on, the inkling of an idea glowing in my mind.

* * *

"How'd it go last night?"

I flush. How does Flynn know what my husband did to me in the library, the kitchen, and his office last night? Did Christian tell him? Is nothing sacred?

He must sense my panic or confusion or something, because he adds quickly, "When you told Christian you'd been to see me."

"Ah, that." I grin. "He was very pleased when I told him I'd be coming back today. Good thinking."

He smiles amicably back. I wonder if he _knows_.

"So you said you've been to a psychologist before?" he asks, changing the subject.

"Yes. I also said I didn't want to talk about it, Dr. Flynn."

"Please, call me John," he interjects.

"Suffice it to say that it was an overall bad experience. I don't even remember much about it except that I hated it. I think I blocked some of it out."

He frowns. He's a hell of a lot easier to read when he's in "Buddy John" mode than when he's acting like a therapist.

"Who was it that decided you needed to see this doctor?"

"That would be my mother and Husband Number Three. They had moved me to Texas and I didn't know anyone. It was not exactly a great match for me and so I moved back to Montesano with Ray." I shift uncomfortably in my seat. "Do we have to talk about this?"

"I'm interested," he puts simply.

I shake my head. This seems like a therapist ploy to get me to bare my soul.

"John, I don't want to be analyzed."

"I'm not analyzing you. Who's analyzing you?" he says innocently.

"It just wasn't for me, okay? I think you're lovely, really, I do. I just can't do this whole therapy thing." I stand up, ready to walk out the door and spend the next fifty minutes in the waiting area alone with Taylor. The dwarves get to take bathroom breaks, smoke a cigarette, whistle, whatever while I'm in my appointments. I'm sure they appreciate it and I wouldn't cut it short for the world. I need the alone time as much as they do.

"Please, don't, Ana. I'm just trying to get to know you. You're so complex, I feel like I don't understand anything about you." He's pleading.

I sigh and collapse back to the sofa. If I'm honest with myself, I don't want to leave and face the real world again.

He really is a friend. I need to stop thinking of him as Christian's therapist. Sure, he's that, too, but really, he's Christian's closest friend. John Flynn is, to the best of my knowledge, the only person who knows all of Christian's secrets. I eye him for a moment. I'm not sure if he knows more about Christian or if I do.

"How much do you already know about me?" I ask before my brain-mouth filter can react.

He laughs lightly and I feel silly or ashamed for the question, I'm not sure which.

"I know you're incredibly patient with Christian and caring. I know you're brave and intelligent and passionate." I blush crimson. _Goddammit_. "I know you think your mother loves too easily and that your father doesn't express himself enough. I know you're worried about taking over Grey Publishing and that you feel guilty about your wealth."

Jesus, this guy could write my biography.

I hold my hand up to make him stop. "Okay. This seems incredibly unfair. You know a whole hell of a lot about me but I know almost nothing about you."

He laughs. "Anastasia, I know practically nothing about you. Everything I think I know comes through the rose-colored filter of Christian's opinion of you. I also _know_ that you're infuriating, headstrong, and when you talk in your sleep, you sound like a seventeen-year-old playing with a vibrator for the first time." He rolls his eyes melodramatically, which relieves a tiny amount of my shame. "His words, not mine."

A moment passes in total awkward silence. I wring my hands and refuse to look up at him. "So, uh, John," I stammer. "How much, exactly, do you know about my sex life?" This is so painfully uncomfortable.

When he doesn't immediately respond, I chance a look at him. He's beat red. Is he sweating?

He says finally, "Everything."

Even though I'm mortified, I raise my eyebrow skeptically. "Everything? Somehow I doubt that."

All he can do is nod slowly. _Oh great_. God bless him, he keeps a somewhat professional demeanor during this whole discussion and maintains eye contact with me when possible.

I swallow loudly.

How did this get so uncomfortable so quickly? But I have to know how much he knows. Is it all a general sense or does he have all the saucy details? I knew Christian talked about it some, obviously, but I need to know how specific we're talking.

"You know I won't ever repeat what we discuss here, right?" He leans forward to put his hand on my knee reassuringly, but thinks better of it at the last moment.

"When you say everything, you mean, 'I know you like it with the lights on,' or do you mean, 'I know you made a sex tape last night'?" Oh _God_, I did not mean to say that.

"Probably the latter, but," he smiles knowingly. "I did not know that you made a sex tape last night. Whose idea was that?"

_Shit!_ I don't know if I can deal with this. It's super intense and, to be completely honest, it's sort of turning me on, which is a big problem since Christian is nowhere to be situation has, once again, become completely untenable.


	17. Maneuvers

_Alright, folks. First of all, Happy Valentine's Day. I'm not a huge fan of the holiday, but that is largely because I seem to be eternally single._

_Next up, I'm sorry I didn't get around to posting last night. The puppy has been taking up a lot of my time — he's adorable and really hates how cold it is outside so he all but refuses to go outdoors. So far I don't think he's peed outside once._

_Thirdly, thank you everyone for all the favorites, follows, reviews, and PMs. A special thanks to lalablackgrey for her AMAZING feedback. She helped craft much of this chapter but in return I'm not allowed to refer to myself as a bad writer. Also, thanks to safibee for being the 100th follower! This is huge. I'm a bit behind in getting back to everyone on the reviews, but know that's going to happen by the end of the week._

_Just one chapter tonight, but it's pretty long and pretty good, I think. _

_Last, but not least, apologies for any formatting issues. This is the first chapter with emails in it and I tried to emulate the way EL James does it in the books, but she's not always consistent, so... let me know if you can think of a way it would be easier to read/understand/follow._

_Thanks!_

* * *

**Chapter 37**

* * *

Okay, so "sex tape" is a bit of an exaggeration. There's no actual _sex_ on the tape. And it's a digital video, so there's no actual _tape_. So really, it's nothing like a sex tape. Right?

"We didn't make a sex tape." See, it's true. I justified it.

"You didn't make a sex tape?" Flynn looks skeptical.

"Well, not technically." I'm evading. I know that.

He smiles at me knowingly. This is very uncomfortable.

"I'm glad you two found each other," he finally says, breaking the silence. "It makes my job a lot easier."

Now I'm smiling. "I'm glad, too."

"I wasn't sure if Christian would ever have this sort of a normal relationship. I didn't think he'd let himself be normal."

I scoff. "You think we're _normal?_"

"Absolutely. Normal couples trust each other, they play together. Newlyweds, they make sex tapes," I glare at him. "Okay, you didn't make a sex tape, but same idea. You two have had a whole lot happen to you since you met but have taken all of it in stride. I'm impressed by your strength."

I roll my eyes. "Why do you and Christian think I'm strong? No one has ever accused me of that before the two of you."

"It takes a lot to handle everything that's happened lately." His brow furrows slightly. "How's Gail doing?"

Oh, poor Gail. She's been seeing Flynn regularly since that day in the apartment. She's been so on edge and jumps at everything. Yesterday, I came out of the powder room next to the kitchen and she nearly jumped two feet in the air.

I smile sadly to him. "She's really struggling, I think. I can't blame her, though."

Gail had just made it to the panic room in time. Hyde had tried everything he could to get to her, including emptying twenty rounds into the steel door. When the police arrived, he was gone, but she refused to open the door for another six hours.

Taylor was trying to do little things for her every day like leave her a dozen roses inside the fridge so she'd had a little surprise when she opened the door, but mostly they were backfiring so far. When she found the roses, she screamed bloody murder before she realized they were from Taylor. She said she thought they were some sort of a threat.

We sit silently for a few minutes. It's a comfortable silence for once, but I get a bit lost in my thoughts. I'm jarred from my reverie when Flynn says softly, "Have you considered people think the same about you?"

_Am_ I struggling? Am I as fucked up as as all that? "No, I suppose I hadn't considered it." I think on that for a while. Maybe Christian doesn't think I'm broken, just bruised. That's how I see Gail.

"I'm still scared of Jack Hyde," I finally say.

"I'd be worried if you weren't, Ana."

I hesitate before I elaborate. "All the security did nothing to stop him last time. Why should it now?"

"I agree."

That surprises me. Flynn's on my side in this?

"Don't look so shocked. I don't agree with everything your husband does. I think this is excessive," he says, vaguely gesturing towards the waiting room where Big T and the Seven Dwarves are surely gathering. Our hour is almost up.

"You should tell Christian your concerns. Work on asking him specific questions, that might help. Instead of saying, 'I don't want all this security,' try, 'why do you think this will help?'"

He makes sense, I know he does, but part of me wants to resist this, to argue, to defy him. I'm sure it's a knee-jerk reaction to being therapized, but I can't help it. Christian asking if I purposefully defy him comes to mind and once again I am inappropriately aroused.

Clearly I need to get laid like nobody's business.

"I'll definitely take that under advisement," I stammer when the buzzer goes off, marking the end of our session. We both stand and head for the door. We shake hands and he holds the doorknob but doesn't open it.

"Please say you're interested in coming back," he says quietly. He hasn't let go of my hand and I feel an immense pressure to say yes.

I nod. "Tomorrow?"

He smiles and opens the door for me, looking entirely satisfied. "Good. Same time?"

"Of course," I say and take Taylor's arm, not looking back for a moment. "Taylor."

"Mrs. Grey."

"Dr. Flynn," I call as we head out to the elevators.

"Mrs. Grey," he answers.

* * *

How did I get wrangled into therapy? I'm not really sure how it happened. I agreed to come, begrudgingly, to see Flynn, but my plan was sound. Just show up once, don't talk about my _feelings_, get Christian off my back. But then John was charming and it felt like hanging out with a friend. _Hanging out with a friend who gets paid hundreds of dollars an hour to listen to you bitch_, my subconscious argues. _It's like a hooker-buddy_.

But now, it's not even like I'm hanging out with a hooker-buddy — I mean _friend_. I'm being analyzed and I'm just ashamed that I let it happen. I mean, he said, "How did that make you feel?" _Seriously?_

"Dr. Flynn," I start.

"I thought we agreed you'd call me John."

I scoff at him in an admittedly not-so-lady-like manner. "And I thought we agreed you wouldn't therapize me." He smirks at my invented term. "When you are in therapist mode, you go back to being Dr. Flynn. Get it?"

He nods. And then he waits.

It's another game of Chicken. We stare at each other for about ten minutes.

Finally, my voice dripping with incredulity, I say, "So let me get this straight: you want to know how it _made me feel_ when Christian said he wouldn't consider decreasing my security detail even though he admits it doesn't particularly matter if I have four bodyguards or eight?"

Flynn nods. Does the man have no shame?

I put on my best therapist impression, moving my imaginary glasses up my nose and leaning back to stare over them at him. "How do _you_ think it made me feel?"

We're at a stand-off and I really don't care. You can bet I'm not going to be coming back after today. Again, I don't care. So far, this has burned three hours, an ungodly amount of money, and created one argument with my husband. Although, when I tell Christian I'm going back the next day, I get instant booty time. I mean, we probably would have had the fight eventually anyway, but still.

Surprisingly, Flynn pipes up. "I think you probably felt he was being unreasonable. But I also bet he felt you were being cavalier with your safety."

"Pssh, he _admitted_ he didn't think it would help," I say. I'm far more animated in my response than I meant to be.

"Which would explain why you thought he was being unreasonable." He winks at me. Is he allowed to do that? "Did you tell him you're scared of Jack Hyde?"

"No."

"Well, that might explain why he thought you were being cavalier with your safety."

Goddammit, he has a point. It's infuriating.

"Did he already talk to you about this fight?" I ask.

"Perhaps." He smiles. It's sort of a sexy smile.

I'm sure I'm being paranoid, but it feels like John Flynn is flirting with me.

I sit back up, business-like. "You may have a point, which I hate to admit, but I really don't appreciate the covert therapy. I don't enjoy you trying to trick me. It's like you think I won't notice, like I'm stupid."

His face falls. "I do not think you're stupid, Ana. I am truly sorry. It's the job, the office. It comes second nature to me and I don't know I'm doing it most of the time. I'm really not trying to analyze you." He holds up three fingers. "Scout's honor."

I giggle. "Were you a Girl Scout?" He looks bewildered. "Boy Scouts use a two finger salute. That's the Girl Scouts' salute, John."

He blushes (_blushes!_) and adjusts his hand. "Like this?" He has it wrong again, his thumb sticking out like Buddha. I laugh at him and reach over to fix it.

There's this weird moment where time sort of slows down. Our hands are touching and our eyes meet. It's just a split-second, but I feel a current pass between us and I'm immediately flustered. Before I can react, the timer sounds.

We break contact and jump to our feet, awkward, like we've been caught doing something we shouldn't. We've done nothing wrong, nothing inappropriate, so I don't know why I feel so guilty.

"I should, uh... go I guess," I stammer as I grab my bag and head to the door.

He holds the door shut like yesterday but doesn't offer to shake my hand this time.

"I'd like to see you again Monday, Ana."

I feel like I shouldn't. It's not like I'm looking forward to seeing him or anything. When I'm not here, I don't think of him. But I know Christian wants me to and maybe he's right. Maybe it's helping.

"Okay, fine. Same time." I smile brightly. Everything is just fine. I set the tone. We're going to pretend whatever that was a minute ago never happened.

He opens the door and I take Taylor's waiting arm.

"Taylor."

"Mrs. Grey."

I turn back. "Dr. Flynn."

He smiles as we head out. "Mrs. Grey."

On the ride back to Escala, I feel compelled to send Christian an email, just to say I love him.

* * *

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: A friendly reminder

Date: November 4 2011 14:30

To: Christian Grey

Husband,

I love you terribly and just wanted to remind you.

xx

Anastasia Grey

Editor, Grey Publishing

* * *

I only have to wait a few blocks for the reply.

* * *

From: Christian Grey

Subject: I must be an elephant...

Date: November 4 2011 14:33

To: Anastasia Grey

Wife,

I never forget. But I would argue that you love me wonderfully.

But thank you for the kind reminder anyway. I love you as well.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

PS, How'd it go with Flynn?

* * *

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: A reminder

Date: November 4 2011 14:34

To: Christian Grey

Husband,

He must be terrible at his job because I'm going back again Monday. Where's my miraculous cure?

Anastasia Grey  
Editor, Grey Publishing

PS, You called him already this morning?

* * *

His reply is almost instantaneous.

* * *

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Actually

Date: November 4 2011 14:35

To: Anastasia Grey

I called him last night.

My palms were feeling very twitchy after our little spat and you're not yet approved for that type of therapeutic use.

You're emailing me again, does this mean you're going to be more open with me again?

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

* * *

_Use?_ I am so turned on and vaguely offended all by this tiny word.

* * *

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: A monkey perhaps?

Date: November 4 2011 14:37

To: Christian Grey

I have been open with you. I do believe there's video evidence to that effect.

As for my possible therapeutic uses, have you considered spanking something else? I have a couple suggestions you could try.

Anastasia Grey  
Editor, Grey Publishing

* * *

No reply comes. I'm nervous and flustered about what he must be thinking as I ride upstairs in the elevator. I walk absentmindedly into the bedroom to drop my bag, staring at my Blackberry. Christian is sitting on the bed with his arms crossed. _Uh oh._

"Ana," he says menacingly.

"Hello," I answer.

"My dear Anastasia." This is an ominous beginning. "I have it under good authority I could lose my eyesight doing what you suggest." I can hear both menace and playfulness in his voice, though I can't tell in what amounts.

"Yes, I hear monkeys like poking men in the eyes," I say teasingly.

His tone gets far more serious. "I have been abstaining, but if you'd like, I can _cheat_ as you put it."

How can I possibly save this conversation? There's silence for a moment or two as I flounder. I so want Wednesday night to be magnificent and the first time back in the saddle for us both. Why do I always put my foot in my mouth?

"How long have you been... abstaining?" I put my trust in my old standard, _delay, delay, delay_.

"Since I met you, Mrs. Grey."

_Oh wow._ I had no idea. I guess we do it often enough that he has no need for extracurricular solo missions, but still. I know men have needs.

My inner goddess shoots up from her lounge chair and takes center stage.

"Good. I want all your pleasure." I hear myself say it, but I'm surprised that my voice sounds like a sex-pot's.

He lets out a little gasp and I know this conversation has taken a u-turn for the better. I push him down on the bed and enjoy the strength I'm regaining in my leg thanks to PT as I sink to my knees in front of him.


	18. The Good Doctor

_Hello, all! I'm SO super sorry about the massive delay in my posting. I had a bit of writer's block (this was a hard chapter to write and I'm still not sure I have it right) plus tech for a show I was designing. It was a lot and all I can do is apologize._

_Like I said, updates are not going to be daily for a while. I have to get back into the writing groove._

_Meanwhile, I pose a question for the group at the end of the chapter. I can't tell if more heartache or less is in store for Ana and Christian, so maybe you guys can help me out! Let me know!_

_Thanks again and come on back soon..._

* * *

**Chapter 38 - The Good Doctor**

* * *

The weekend was absolutely fantastic. I know Christian and I have been somewhat limited in how we can express our affection for one another, but it's still been sort of amazing.

I did have a heart-to-heart with Mrs. Jones on Sunday afternoon while Christian was in the shower. I told her that I was also seeing Dr. Flynn and that he had asked about her. Surprisingly, she spontaneously burst into tears. I wasn't really sure what to do about that, so I just hugged her tight to my chest and let her ride it out. I hope it helped. This morning, she had a megawatt smile plastered to her face every time she glanced in my direction, and I think she might have mumbled thank you to the scrambled eggs at some point.

She isn't the only one in a great mood. Not only do Christian and I get to go back to our regularly-scheduled sexual escapades on Wednesday, but I'm generally getting my shit together. I'm seeing Dr. Flynn hopefully for the last time at one and getting my follow-up with Dr. Greene at home. Christian left for work at the crack of dawn today so that he can come home early and we can have a romantic dinner. Since we can't get too physical, he suggested we up the romance. "I want you to view the next few days as foreplay," he'd said.

Having Dr. Greene come here was really the only option Christian was willing to consider. He would not, in a million years let me go to her office ever again. He didn't say so, but I'm sure he's worried there are listening devices or, worse, video recorders somewhere in her office planted by Hyde. I'm terrified by the prospect, personally. The only reasons I'm continuing to see her are because she's the best and because she said she would keep no written records in my name. She's created a new client under a pseudonym and has even changed my supposed age and race to help with hiding some of my information should there ever be another break-in.

It's far better, anyway, not having to go to her office. I can't imagine Taylor and his dwarves sitting in the waiting room, knowing what's going on in the next room. Yes, this is better. Now, there's only Taylor and Ryan in the apartment and they have the surveillance to my old bedroom shut off for the morning.

The truth is I'm nervous about the visit, but I'm not really sure why. I'm certain she'll be bringing up the pregnancy and it's not really something I want to discuss at this point.

I've been pacing the hallway since I finished breakfast. I'm pretty sure I'm going to dig a trench here in the hardwood if I'm not careful.

"Mrs. Grey?" I hear Taylor say behind me. He was quiet and stealthy, as always, when he approached, so his voice made me jump, since I was already on edge.

"Yes."

"Dr. Greene is here. Would you like me to send her back?"

I nod. My heart is in my throat, so the prospect of speaking is harrowing to say the least.

I go sit on the bed and feel my knees bouncing a million miles a minute. I'm far more nervous than I'd anticipated being and I wish I'd asked Christian to come to the appointment.

Dr. Greene walks in all smiles and good energy. It's really hard to stay tense around her, but somehow I succeed.

I'm already in a robe, so I go to put my feet up when she stops me.

"Ana, I think we need to have a little chat before the physical exam," she says. She has her hand on my knee, steadying it, holding me in place.

I nod again.

"I haven't seen you since your pregnancy test."

I nod. I'm going to get dizzy.

"I know you miscarried and everything that happened. How are you doing?"

I gulp hard. That lump is not moving out of my throat anytime soon. "I got my cast off my leg, I'm still a little weak. My balance has always left a little to be desired, but now, it's a bit embarrassing..."

She shakes her head at me, serious.

"No, I mean emotionally. You'd be surprised how much your state of mind can effect your health."

"I've been seeing Dr. Flynn, he's Christian's therapist. I think it's going well. I just, I don't really go in for the whole psychology thing."

She says, "Have you talked with Mr. Grey about the baby?"

Oh, God. I do not want to be having this conversation. Not now, not _ever_ really. "Do you mean when I found out I was pregnant or when I found out I wasn't?"

She gives me a sad smile. "Well, why don't we start with when you found out you were pregnant."

I take a deep breath. "He was not enthusiastic. In fact, we fought. He said some awful things and we were almost not speaking when I had my accident." _Nice euphemism, Steele_, my subconscious mutters.

"I see. And has he expressed contrition about that?"

I nod.

I can feel the tears welling up. This is not what should happen when you see your gynecologist. You should not have an emotional breakdown. You should not cry. I mean, before she even gives you any news at least.

"And what about after?"

I blink three times before answering. "We have been avoiding the topic," I say. "_I've_ been avoiding the topic."

A stern look crosses her face. "Ana, it's important for you to talk openly and honestly about your feelings of loss. Mr. Grey has actually talked to me at length about his sadness since your, what did you call it? Accident?"

This admission shocks me. "He called you?"

"Well, after the break-in, we were talking quite a bit and, well, he just started sharing," she says sheepishly. "But I want to know how you feel, Ana."

I can't even look at her. My feet hold all my attention. I shrug.

"Do you want to have children, Ana?"

I warm undefinable feeling starts deep in the pit of my stomach. Probably about where my Blip used to live. It's happy, it's sad, it's lonely, it's hopeful. I can't figure it out and it's something I've been trying to ignore for months. The knowledge of the sensation of life inside of me. Of fullness where there is now emptiness.

"I haven't really thought about it."

Her voice is quiet and soothing. "Do you know if Christian wants to have children?" she asks.

"He said he didn't." I can hardly even hear myself.

"Have you asked him since your miscarriage?"

I look up at her. She has a look not of pity across her face. She looks at me as if she just wants to help me. Like the next rung on the ladder is just a little to the left of where I'm reaching.

"I didn't think he would have changed his mind."

She smiles at me again. I must have just touched that rung with my fingertips.

"I suggest you ask him. He might surprise you. It might help you to solidify your own thoughts on the subject."

* * *

After my exam, Dr. Greene starts packing up. I'm back in my robe and feeling a bit better now that the worst is over. I've had my shot and I'm cleared for Wednesday's plans. And _oh_, do I have plans.

Just before she leaves, Dr. Greene stands and gives me her most serious stare. "Ana, I'll be calling you personally to make another appointment in two weeks. I able to bring all the equipment with me today to run certain tests here."

_Two weeks!_ I thought I only had to see her ever three months for my shot.

"Because your miscarriage was accompanied by so many other internal injuries, it might be prudent to do some tests just to make sure everything's still working properly."

I nod. "What wouldn't be working?"

She hesitates. "There's a small possibility that you may have suffered injury to your uterus, your philopian tubes, or your ovaries. I don't mean to alarm you, but with these sorts of miscarriages, it can mean an increased difficulty in becoming pregnant again."

I can feel a bubbling panic down in that same deep, dark place. I've been ignoring that spot for so long, it is completely natural to ignore it some more. My subconscious puts a lid on the whole thing and walks away.

"Sure, Dr. Greene."

* * *

Dr. Flynn isn't much better. He keeps trying to pull me back to a conversation about miscarriage. I'm just not having it. Not today.

"Dr. Flynn," I say.

His eyes narrow and I can tell I've hit a nerve. He knows he shouldn't push me this hard.

"Mrs. Grey, this is something we _need_ to talk about. It's not unusual to become depressed after a miscarriage but considering everything else that's happened, I'd frankly be surprised if you weren't depressed. It's a lot to deal with."

I stand up and start to collect my purse. "Have a good day, Dr. Flynn." I extend my hand but he doesn't take it. He doesn't stand, he doesn't try to stop me.

I turn and walk out the door, head held high. "Taylor, we're done. I'm ready to go."

Only Taylor, Dumpy, and Sleepy are in the waiting room. I'm only fifteen minutes into my session, so it's no surprise that the rest have all gone off to smoke, eat, rest, whatever these guys do with their spare time. The three of them jump to their feet. Dumpy speaks for the first time since I've met him.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but we have to wait for the rest of the team to get here." He has his hands up, blocking my progress towards the elevator.

"Mrs. Grey." Dr. Flynn appears in the doorway to his office, arms crossed over his chest, looking hurt like a lost puppy. I could give a crap.

I lean around him to meet Taylor's gaze. "Taylor, I want to go home _now_."

"Of course, Mrs. Grey," he says. And the four of us head out. I don't turn back to look at Flynn once.


	19. Again

_The response was fairly conclusive - we all love when bad things happen to this lovely group of people. So, keep the bad times rolling. I'm guessing none of you really anticipated this._

_More soon. Again, sorry about that long break._

* * *

**Ch 39**

* * *

I'm impatiently sitting in the backseat of the Audi with Sleepy, who keeps rubbing his eyes and yawning loudly. I insisted we all take one car since there's only four of us. Taylor is a bit non-plussed, to say the least, but I just care more about getting home quickly than about having any sort of personal space.

Sleepy won't make eye contact and that's just fine by me. A few months ago, I would make a concerted effort to speak with each of my security detail, to know about them, to learn their names, to treat them like friends who just happen to get paid to protect me, but there's something keeping me from doing that. Maybe it's that my friends usually wind up getting hurt because they know me. Why should I introduce a greater possibility of these men being victims? It's better this way.

We're almost home by the time I finish sending an email to Christian:

* * *

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: The Highway Robber

Date: November 7 2011 13:25

To: Christian Grey

Excited about our romantic dinner tonight. What should I wear?

Anastasia Grey  
Editor, Grey Publishing

I glance out the window absentmindedly when I notice a car going way too fast. I realize it's going to hit us and only manage to shriek, "Taylor!" before the impact.

We spin over and over again before we come to a sudden and decisive stop. Everything is blurry for a few minutes, but I know exactly one thing. I am upside down.

"Mrs. Grey, it seems you've been in an accident. Are you alright?" an unfamiliar woman's voice sounds through the car. I try to speak but more of a croak comes out of my throat. "Mrs. Grey, are you there?"

I try again. "Yes. Yes. What happened?" Suddenly I find myself incredibly confused and more than a little bit scared.

"Mrs. Grey, this is OnStar. You've been in an accident. I've contacted emergency services and they're on the way, but I'm going to stay on the phone with you until they arrive. Is there anyone else in the car with you?" Her voice is calm, reassuring.

"Taylor?" I hear no response and start to really panic.

"Mrs. Grey, "

"Yes, yes! Three men, my security. Wake up! Wake up!" Nothing more than a groan comes out of Dumpy, but that's the only answer so far.

"Was there another car involved in the crash? Can you see it? Is anyone in it injured?"

I look around and see a black SUV on its side. It looks so familiar. Where have I seen it before.

"There's no one inside, but it's a black SUV. A Dodge I think."

And then it hits me like a ton of bricks. "He's here, it's Hyde." I struggle to find the seatbelt release. I have to get away.

"Ma'am, I am going to need you to calm down. Emergency Medical Services is sending two ambulances right now, that should accommodate everyone in your vehicle."

"It wasn't an accident. Get the police! Please!" I finally find the release and fall to the ceiling of the car. There's broken glass everywhere and I can feel it digging into my palms and knees. I try my door to no affect. It looks like we hit a pole on Sleepy's side of the car, so his door isn't going to be working either. I take a moment to check his pulse and simply can't find one.

"Oh Jesus, I think he's dead." My voice sounds like a whine, but I can't delay. I have to get out of here. Tears are streaming down my face and I can taste blood.

"Ma'am, please stay in the car and try to remain as calm as possible. Emergency services will be there shortly."

I don't bother responding. I crawl on my belly through my now-empty window to the street, scraping my entire front along the broken glass. I can see a crowd gathered all around, the Dodge is empty, though. He must have sped off after hitting us. He could be anywhere.

I spin, looking through the crowd. I have to get out of here. I'm vaguely aware of people trying to talk to me, to calm me down, to stop me, but I just shove them with all my weight, abandon my stilettos, and start running as fast as I can.

* * *

Time passes. I get further away. I'm not really sure how far or how long, but I run until I have no idea where I am. I've only lived in Seattle since May and I realize I've hardly seen any of it at all. I haven't been walking except in my own neighborhood or near work, and I always get driven around, so I have absolutely no sense of direction as it is.

I stop and get a breath, leaning against a lamppost. It's dark out. When did it get dark? This neighborhood is not particularly nice. There's a couple of houses down the street, but I'm surrounded by liquor stores and closed shops. A convenience store offers the only hope of a payphone and since my purse is still back in the Audi, I figure it's where I should go.

I walk in, briefly noting the "No shoes, No shirt, No service" sign in the door and laughing quietly and darkly about it to myself. I'm sure I'm quite a site., dressed in a bloody and shredded Vera Wang silk blouse, Calvin Klein pencil skirt, torn pantyhose, a ripped cardigan, and no shoes, covered in cuts, bruises, broken glass, and I think at least some asphalt. The store clerk gives me a questioning look.

"Payphone?" I say, as sweetly and naturally as possible.

He merely points towards the back of the store, next to the condoms, lube, and tampons.

I check my complete lack of pockets. No change. I start to dial collect and realize I can't remember all of Christian's phone number. I try Ray's house but there's no answer.

I hang up and stand still for a couple minutes, just staring at the payphone — this outdated technology that so utterly represents my salvation. Finally, I pick up the receiver again and dial 911.

"Hello, I've been in a car accident," I say shakily. When was the last time I ate anything?

"Alright, ma'am, what's your location?"

I look around, searching for any kind of an answer to his question.

"Uh, I'm in a convenience store." This seems insufficient. "I'm lost."

I cover the receiver and call out to the clerk. "What's the address here?"

He tells me and I repeat it back to the operator.

"Okay, and are you injured?" he says.

"Only a little. There was a lot of glass. And I've been running. I think something's wrong with my feet."

There's a slight pause and the operator comes back sounding a bit more concerned. "Ma'am, where's your car? Were there any other cars involved in the crash?"

How to explain this? "I sort of blacked out. The accident was downtown. I just, I need help please. Please, I just want my husband." I'm crying and can't control it at all. The store clerk has come over with a bottle of water for me. I try to smile at him as a thank you, but all I manage is a grimace.

"We're on our way, ma'am, what's your name?"

"Anastasia Grey."

Muffled, I hear the operator talking to someone else, "I've found Grey, Sergeant. She's in West Seattle. She sounds disoriented. I've already dispatched a squad car and an ambulance."

I wait a moment while the muffled voices talk back and forth. "What time is it?"

The clerk answers in a thick accent I can't quite identify, "It's 10:30."

_Whoa_, I've been running for almost nine hours! Christian must have been so worried. "Sir, sir?" I say into the phone.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Can someone call my husband and let him know I'm okay? I can't remember the number."

"Already done, ma'am. He's going to meet you at Northwest Hospital."

"Oh thank you, thank you." And as if my body had been waiting to hear about Christian, I fall to the floor, passing out.

* * *

I'm in the hospital, Christian at my side, holding my hand. He's wide awake, tears staining his cheeks.

"Oh, Ana, Ana," he whispers. He leans forward and kisses my lips gently before sitting back down.

"Christian, thank god." I smile at him, and though I expect it to hurt, I'm pleasantly surprised to find it doesn't. My feet hurt, my elbows hurt, my knees hurt, my head and neck hurt, but my face, thankfully, does not. "I want to go home." I have spent far too much time in this hospital recently.

"Of course, baby. I'll get you home." He smiles sweetly to me and presses the call button next my bed while he whips out his cell phone, hitting speed dial.

"Yes, Ryan, I'd like you to meet us in Mrs. Grey's hospital room in ten minutes." He hangs up just as the nurse walks in.

"Oh you're awake," she says, beaming. She begins to walk over to us when Christian stands up to face her.

"I'd like Mrs. Grey discharged as quickly as possible. She would like to go home. I can care for her there."

While they're arguing — the nurse doesn't think it's a good idea, Christian insists, she says she's going to have to get the doctor, etc. — I do a system's check. I have bandages on my hands, my elbows, my torso, my knees, and my feet. Nothing seems too serious, but my head is pounding. The two of them raise their voices and I screw up my face. They're being far too loud for the size of the room or the pain in my head.

"Please," I murmur quietly, holding up one bandaged hand. "I just want to sleep in my own bed with my husband and have some silence. I'm not badly hurt, am I?"

I'm in a wheelchair, dressed, prescriptions in hand within fifteen minutes. Never underestimate the power of a quiet request and a few greased palms. Just as I'm starting to feel a little bit of hope that we'll be home and safe soon, Christian kneels down next to me.

"Ana, baby, there's been an accident." His face is so somber, I almost laugh. _Clearly_ there's been an accident. _I was there!_ I want to yell. "It's José."

The problem with putting a lid on a bubbling pot is that it just makes it boil harder and faster. That fear, that insecurity, that complete and utter panic has completely taken over my whole body. I feel myself starting to hyperventilate and I can't reel it back. Soon frantic sobs flow, unrelenting, from my mouth.

"Baby, he's in surgery in Portland. Now, we can go straight there if you want, but we can go home, too. You wouldn't be able to visit him for a few hours anyway, so..." He rubs his hands up and down my arms, trying to settle me. It has limited success. "You should really rest."

I take two, three... Several steadying breaths. "It was Jack Hyde, Christian." His face contorts in anger.

"I know."

"I have to be with José. I have to. Please."

* * *

We take Charlie Tango. The soles of my feet are incredibly sensitive, so Christian lifts me from the wheelchair to my seat. He hurriedly straps me in, not lingering as he normally does. After he's all ready and we're in the air, I hear his disembodied voice through the cans.

"I think we need to get away, Anastasia."

I roll my eyes. Not exactly an appropriate time to talk about vacationing, Christian. "Can we talk about this later?"

"No, there's something you don't know."

I stop breathing altogether.

"José's accident happened at the same exact time as yours. A black Dodge SUV t-boned him just a couple blocks from his dorm."

_Oh God!_ Things are really starting to click together. It might not have been Jack Hyde, himself, who hit me, but he was definitely behind it.

"And your father's accident a couple months ago..."

_No, no, no. This can't be happening_. "Is everyone else safe? Is everyone alright? Have you checked in with everybody?" All I can do is go down the list of everyone I've ever met. What about my mother? What about Elliot? What about...

"We can't get ahold of Ethan." His voice is barely a whisper.

My body has to run out of adrenaline eventually, right? Every hair is standing on end, ever pore is puckered, every nerve is electric as all this news sweeps over me.


	20. In Between

_Alright, folks. I gave you quite a bit of a cliffhanger in the last chapter — I love writing them but I know they can be so frustrating to read, so I'm sorry._

_I'm going to be starting a second fic this week, so hopefully I'll get a bit more of the writing bug since the other story will be so new and nothing's quite as good an encouragement than being new_.

_Again, just quickly, thanks to everyone who reads, favorites, reviews, follows, and PMs. Much appreciated. I do not own any of these characters (if I did, you can bet that I wouldn't have named José's dad José because it's really annoying to write about the two of them together)._

_WARNING: this is for MATURE audiences only. If you're under 18, congratulations, you are determined and licentious. I'm not gonna stop you, but I have officially warned you._

* * *

**Chapter 40**

* * *

José Sr. and Ray are already sitting in the waiting room, their heads in their hands, when we walk in. Clearly there's been no news. They are both ashen-faced. Ray's fully healed from his accident, but I can still see a stiffness to his movement that was not there before. I wish he'd take my advice and see a chiropractor.

"Daddy?" They both look up at us. Ray stands and pulls me into his arms, a gesture he's only done twice before: once at my wedding and once when I moved back in with him in high school.

I can't cry anymore. I'm out of tears. So, I just hold onto Ray as tightly as I can. We stay like this for a long while. Finally, Ray lets go and I repeat the process with José's father.

Even though I know it makes Christian uncomfortable to see me so intimate with others, he doesn't say a peep, other than a respectful "Sir," as he shakes Ray's hand.

We all sit and Christian immediately offers to make a few phone calls, to see if he can glean any information from the nurses, to talk to the police. His desire to have control knows few bounds. "Christian, could you get us some coffee?" I finally say, and he rushes off, giving me a peck on the forehead before running out.

Ray takes my hand from my lap, not looking at me. He holds it up to his mouth and whispers to it, "Thank god you're alright." He then lays a swift kiss on the back of it and squeezes tightly. I can see that he was legitimately scared and I'm filled with a deep sadness. I hope to god that José and Ethan are alright.

Christian comes back with coffees and almost immediately departs again to get us whatever passes for food in this place.

As the three of us sit in complete silence waiting for the doctors to let us know what's happening, I unfortunately have plenty of time to think.

So, Ray's accident, my accident, and José's accident were not accidents. They were a coordinated strike. There's no doubt in my mind who's responsible. The black Dodge SUV really solidified in my mind the certainty that Hyde was not done with me. But why Ray and José? Their _only_ connection to the Greys is through me. They're my friends. I thought Jack wanted to destroy the Greys. How would hurting José and Ray do that?

And where in the world could Ethan be? I try to convince myself that it's a coincidence. His phone died and he's in major study mode at the library in one of those deep stacks no one can ever find anything. It's possible I suppose. But is it likely? I have to admit that it isn't.

I remember briefly how Mia said he'd threatened her when she was kidnapped — with torture, rape, and death. My mind concocts worst case scenario after worse case scenario as to where Ethan could possibly be, what could be happening to him. I feel like my grip on consciousness is slipping.

Just then, a doctor walks into the waiting room, which is almost completely empty. "Rodriguez?"

The three of us are immediately on our feet, making our way over to him. I don't know if we run or if we drag our feet. Time didn't exist anymore. The look on the doctor's face is not good.

"Mr. Rodriguez?" he says, looking at José's dad. He nods back. "Shall we talk in private?" He glances briefly in Ray's direction and in mine, but Mr. Rodriguez brushes him off.

"Anything you have to say to me you can share with them. They're family."

I smile very briefly at that. He's right. We _are_ family.

"Well, it was a very difficult surgery. José's injuries were extensive. The SUV hit him full-on. It struck him above the knees, which is a major consideration. We tried everything we could, but we were unable to save his legs."

I throw up into the garbage can next to me. He was a pedestrian? I had no idea. I recover quickly. "Oh Jesus."

"The good news is that he will live. He has very few internal injuries to his abdomen and head — a few lacerations. We gave him six stitches in his left shoulder, but most of the damage was limited to his legs. We've managed to stop the bleeding and he should be waking up in the next half-hour or so if you'd like to see him. I'm sure he'd be happy for the support. It will be quite a shock when he wakes."

"Thank you, doctor." José looks like he's going to pass out. Ray and I rush to get him to a chair, where we say words that are surely no help at all.

* * *

When José wakes up, Ray, his father, and I are all around him, while Christian waits a little further back. His voice is raspy and coarse, which they warned us would happen because of the breathing tube they used during surgery.

"Hey guys," he croaks. He furrows his brow and takes a purposeful swallow. I know that I'm barely holding back my tears. I can only imagine how the group of us look. "What happened?"

Mr. Rodriguez takes his son's hand. "You were hit by a car." His voice sounds almost as strained as José's.

José concentrates for a moment, trying to remember. "Yeah, I was running to class. I was late," he says.

_I have to hold it together for a few more moments. This isn't about me, this is about José,_ I have to remind myself. Even so, I can't hold back the tearless sob that escapes my mouth. My hands fly up to my face, as though I can physically keep any more at bay.

Christian's hand is on my shoulder and I calm instantly. I look up at him, his face neutral and determined. "Was anyone with you?"

José shakes his head slowly. "I don't think so..." He doesn't seem too sure of himself, though.

Christian swears under his breath. He had been hoping that Ethan had been with him maybe.

José's father squeezes his hand to grab his attention once more. "Son, listen. You were hurt very badly when you were hit. And the doctors..."

I take his other hand in mine, squeezing tightly. The bandages around my hands are clean, but I feel my wounds open up and I know they won't stay that way for long.

"The doctors saved your life."

José smiles weakly at us. "That was awfully nice of them." I chuckle softly at him.

"But, Son, nothing is ever free."

José looks completely confused. This will be his last moment of blissful ignorance and I want to bottle it up so he can revisit this time again later and be happy. But it's only a moment — fleeting — and like that it's gone forever.

"They had to take your legs."

I wasn't sure how José would react to this, but somehow panic was not what I expected to see spread across his face. Maybe I thought it would be sadness or anger, but panic makes sense too, I suppose. I just wasn't prepared for that reaction.

He throws back his covers and looks down at the stumps that were healthy, strong legs just hours earlier. Tears flow freely not just from my eyes, but from everyone's, especially José's.

* * *

Christian tucks me into bed and kisses the crook of my neck. I feel my muscles relax slightly, but I can't stop replaying the scene that had unfolded at the hospital less than an hour ago. José had gone completely mad, trying to get out of bed, thrashing about, and had to be restrained by two large nurses, Ray, Christian, and his father, and finally sedated. I don't think I'll ever get that image out of my head.

My worry about Ethan has also grown exponentially by the minute. If something this bad happened to José, where could Ethan be right now? How is he? Is he even still alive?

So far, Detective Clark has had no answers for us. He's been trying to reassure us that they're doing everything in their power to find Ethan and that the FBI will become involved in the morning if he's still not found. I know I should find comfort in that, but somehow it just makes me more nervous.

Christian stands back up and starts to leave the bedroom, but I sit straight up and call to him. "Where are you going?"

He turns back in the doorway, trying to look relaxed, but I know him too well. Just like he's always telling me, I know his body, and while he's an expert at hiding his emotions on his face, he hasn't mastered it yet with the rest of him. His shoulders are tense and he keeps flexing the muscles in his hands one at a time. I know he's completely on edge. He's as worried as I am.

"I'm just going to visit Taylor at the hospital. Mom called me while you were in the bathroom to tell me he's awake and asking for me."

I pull back the duvet and throw my legs around to the side of the bed. I'm as tired as all get-out, but I need something physical to occupy my mind. I know I won't be able to sleep right now even though it's long past midnight.

"Good. I'm coming with you."

Christian marches over to me with three long strides. "Like hell you are," he proclaims. He puts his strong hand in the middle of my chest and pushes me back into the bed. He holds me there, pinned, anger etched across his face.

For a moment, I am entirely afraid. Afraid of my own husband. And he sees it. He flinches and pulls away, backing up into the dresser. "Ana," he whimpers. His face has completely transformed. It's an emotion I've seen on it before. He's ashamed and frightened. It's the same look he had when I safeworded a few months ago.

I sit up very slowly and hold my arms open to him, inviting him to touch me. "Christian, it's okay. I'm okay." He needs reassurance. He needs comfort. He needs to be able to bury himself in me.

He slowly makes his way over to me and drops to his knees right in front of me, falling into my embrace. I hold his head against my chest, between my breasts and inhale his scent.

"I thought I lost you today, Ana. I can't lose you."

I kiss the top of his head gently. "I know, Christian, I'm sorry."

"I couldn't protect you."

That's why he was so angry. If I'm here, I'm safe. If I leave, even with him, he has no control. Anything could happen.

"Christian," is all I can manage.

I feel him turn his head slightly and kiss between my breasts. They are already pressed together from hugging him, and it feels sublime, like he's touching so much of me at once. My head tilts back and I utter a small moan at the unexpected warmness that fills my core. I spread my legs to allow him to kneel between them. He wraps his arms around my center just barely tighter and I reciprocate, pulling our bodies closer together and his face deeper between my breasts. I hear and feel him inhale deeply and it sends a shiver down my spine.

He releases me and lifts his head to kiss me. He pulls my silk nightgown off my shoulders, letting it slide down to my hips. His hands roam from my face, down my neck, over my shoulders and down to my now-sensitive breasts, cupping them and running his thumbs over my nipples. He looks down at them and then bends slightly, running his tongue along the tops of them as he squishes them together and lets his thumbs slide between them. I inhale sharply at the attention he's paying them.

"I've wanted to fuck these for quite some time, Mrs. Grey."

_Oh my_, how would that work?

His thumbs move in and out slowly between my breasts from below and the feeling is heady. My breasts are usually so sensitive to Christian's touch, but this takes it to another level. I think I can understand the mechanics of how this would work now, too. I can feel his erection through his suit pants against my center and grind into him.

"I'd like that very much, Mr. Grey," I exhale into his ear before biting his lobe.

I lift my hands to cover his, pressing my breasts gently together. He gives a quick bite to each of my nipples before standing and undoing his pants. I lick my lips when he springs free from his boxers, and I swear it _twitches_. He lifts his shirt over his head and leans over to kiss me, forcing me throw my head all the way back to reach his lips. His hands rub the underside of each breast and I let out another little moan.

"I would very much like to make you come this way, Mrs. Grey," he says gruffly, breaking our kiss.

He bends his knees slightly and runs the entire length of his hand along my core. I keep my eyes locked on his as a gasp escapes my lips, which I can't seem to keep closed.

He then runs his slicked hand along the bottom edge of my breasts and then focuses his wet fingertips between them. He bends and runs his tongue along the return trail his hand just took, starting at the parting of my breasts, along their undersides and then along my slit. I shudder and can feel myself tightening everywhere.

He reaches into the nightstand drawer and produces a small tube, which he squirts directly onto the tops of my breasts. He lets his hands swirl the lube across the upper part of each breast slowly, stimulating every nerve ending, but lets it drip between my breasts on its own, bedewing my newfound opening. He takes himself in one slippery hand, moving it slowly up and down his length a few times. I'm completely mesmerized. And turned on.

He guides himself between my breasts and slides between them. I feel incredibly slutty doing this, which just makes it hotter. It's kinky and erotic and so different a sensation. He takes my breasts back in his hands and as he thrusts slowly between them, he presses them together slightly. The result is that he touches almost half of each breast, filling me with an electric pulse. My hands are now free but I don't know what to do with them. They find the backs of his knees and I run my nails up his thighs very slowly. Christian's head rolls back and he stills momentarily.

I look down to watch the show on my chest and I let my tongue run along the top of his head, savoring the salty wetness there. He lets out a sharp breath.

"Ana," he sighs, as he begins thrusting again, quickening his pace slightly. With each thrust, my mouth takes his tip in and he growls.

I can feel myself building quickly and reposition myself so that my core is pressed against his leg, giving me that elusive friction I've so needed.

Just a few more thrusts and I throw my head back, screaming his name, wracked with tremors, digging my fingernails into his backside.

"I'm going to come, Ana," he mumbles, and I feel a wetness cover my chest and neck as he stills.

We collapse onto the bed and he kisses me, wiping up the mess with his discarded shirt.

As our breathing slows, I sigh.

After a few minutes like this, I begin to laugh.

"What? What's so funny?" he says.

"Well, that took my mind off things for a while."

He chuckles softly.

"One more day, Ana."

"One more day, Christian."

* * *

_A/N: Whoa, that was really intense! As an apology for the wait and also for what I've done to poor José, I give you titty fucking as your reward for being a patient and grateful audience. Hope you enjoyed it as much as Ana and Christian did. Until next time!_


	21. Tomorrow

_Thanks everybody for your patience. I know I've been just terrible about posting._

_I rewrote this chapter two or three times and I'm still not necessarily happy with it, but it's as good as it's gonna get right now._

_Coincidentally, I realized I misspelled "Huey, Duey, and Luey," so that's been changed. Sorry for any confusion it may cause._

* * *

**Ch. 41 - Tomorrow**

* * *

In the end, I did manage to convince Christian to let me go with him to the hospital to visit Taylor. When we arrive, Gail is already there holding his hand, kneading it as though she's worried he'll disappear before her very eyes. As I understand it, he cracked two of his ribs with the seat belt and got knocked out by the side curtain airbag. He's got a huge black eye, but thank god for safety equipment. And thank you, Christian, for insisting on the highest crash test rating available for all our cars.

Taylor smiles when we come in, probably glad for the distraction from Gail's tears. When she turns to us, I realize I've never seen her without makeup before — she looks old enough to be my mother. I give her a big hug, vaguely aware that she never lets go of Jason's hand, then I lean over and give him a big sloppy kiss on the cheek. Christian grunts beside me, but I see the relief all over him. He is so glad his friend is alright.

Huey, Dewey, and Louie, who escorted us here, wait outside, though I notice that this time none of them sit, pick up a magazine, go to the bathroom... They stand at attention, sunglasses on, scanning the surroundings for any possible threat. I'm sure they were all reamed for what happened, even though we all know it wasn't their fault.

I realize I still don't know their names. Just like I didn't know the names of the men who had been in the car with Taylor and me. I now knew them. I would never forget them. We'd already been to visit Martinez, who broke his leg in five places. Humphries is dead.

This is all my fault. All this pain, this death. It seems like hardly anyone I've ever met will get away unscathed.

"What are their names, Taylor?" I ask, seemingly out of the blue. The conversation I haven't been listening to stops and the three of them look at me. I jerk my head towards the door to indicate the trio of bodyguards.

"Flores, Brechner, and Samuels," Taylor replies. He smiles wryly. "But I call them Huey, Dewey, and Louie." He gives me a wink. I'm sure I've flushed red as a beet.

I smile and try to shift the focus off of me. "Christian, why don't you 'debrief' Taylor or whatever you came here to do? I'm going to go get some water." I can see he wants to come with me. "I'll be fine. I'll take, uh..." I stammer.

Taylor smirks again. "Flores."

"Flores?"

He laughs at me. He must be feeling a lot better. "Huey. His name is Flores, ma'am."

I nod and step out of the room.

The three bodyguards all stare at me and stand just a little bit straighter.

"Flores," I bark.

"Ma'am."

Damn, I thought that was Louie. "Will you come with me to the vending machines, please?"

"Of course, ma'am."

We amble down the hall, somewhat lost. You'd think I'd have a full working navigational knowledge of the entire hospital from all the time I spend in it, but I'm rarely ambulatory, much less allowed to wander while I'm here usually. Besides, we're in a regular ward, not the emergency room or the ICU, and clearly my injuries are generally more dire than this floor can handle. I scoff at myself.

We make another left but wind up in another nondescript, boring hallway that smells like old men's diapers and Febreze.

"Ma'am, are you lost?"

I look to my right and see bathrooms. There has to be a vending machine near the bathrooms, right?

"No, not yet. I know exactly where we are," I lie.

I scurry down to the bathrooms and turn the corner, only to be faced by a linen closet and a laundry room. Behind me is a supply closet. Yep, I have no idea how we got here or how to get back, never mind finding a bottle of damn water.

"Okay, fine, I'm lost. Flores, would you mind asking for directions to a water fountain or something?"

He nods with a smile and walks back the way we came to the nurses' station two hallways back. I briefly consider following him, but then realize I'm next to the bathroom, I might as well seize the opportunity.

"I'm just gonna go to the ladies' room!" I yell after him and duck into the bathroom.

While I'm washing my hands, Flores knocks on the door. "I have the directions, ma'am. Just come on out when you're ready."

I decide to freshen my makeup, which looks a total mess, before heading out. "Alright, thank you, Flores." I'm trying to impress upon myself his name so I won't forget it. "I'll just be a minute."

I reach in my purse to pull out my lipstick when I see my new replacement Blackberry blinking. I must have a text message. I fish it out and check my messages.

*_I hope you enjoyed your little road trip today. Can't wait to see you tomorrow. -J_*

I immediately start hyperventilating. I drop the phone and it clatters on the tile floor, echoing in the shiny bathroom. "Flores!" I shout.

He's by my side almost instantly, holding my shoulder. "Ma'am?"

I point at the Blackberry on the floor.

"We have to tell Christian," I say before passing out.

* * *

_Oh crap, seriously, not again. _

I wake up in a hospital bed, but when I look over this time, I see that I'm not hooked up to anything, I'm not even under the covers. I'm wearing my own clothes and I don't feel sick or drugged. My hands are still bandaged, but I'm fine.

I'm in Taylor's room in the spare bed. It comes rushing back to me in a blur as I sit straight up. Christian, Gail, and a now-upright-and-dressed Taylor stand around me.

"He's planning something tomorrow, Christian."

"I know." He sounds so despondent. "Today, actually."

"But his email said," I start.

"It was sent eight hours ago, Ana. It was Monday. He was talking about today."

I look at my watch. It's nearly 6 a.m.

"Is it safe to drive home?"

"I should've just taken you away when I got you from the hospital yesterday." He shakes his head. "I shouldn't have told you about José. We shouldn't have gone to Portland. We could be in Thailand by now."

Gail looks like she wants to rub his back but I shake my head silently at her. He would just react badly to her touch.

"No. Christian, you were right to tell me. We needed to go to see him. And Taylor." He looks unconvinced. "I don't know if I'd have been able to forgive you if you'd lied to me like that."

I see anger flash across his eyes but it's quickly replaced by understanding and then fear. He nods.

"I can't lose you," he whispers.

"We can go now, Christian. Let's go to the airport, grab a flight to wherever. Let's go, just the two of us. We can still get away. Take a fifteen-hour flight somewhere. It'll be Wednesday by the time we land!"

He looks at me hopelessly then at Taylor. They share a look that seems and awful lot like pity.

"What?" I yell.

Christian takes my hands in his. "Baby, there's no way to know what he's planning. He could be expecting us to go to the airport. He could be planning to ambush us at home. We don't know and I can't risk it. We're just going to stay here."

"But what if he's expecting us to be here?"

Christian's face falls. Maybe he hadn't considered that, though somehow I doubt it. He just seems so out of ideas. His tenuous grasp on control is broken and I see him crumbling in my hands.

"Christian, we have to do something. We can't just wait for him." I say. "We have to do something he wouldn't expect, right? So what's the stupidest course of action?"

He thinks, quietly. Taylor finally volunteers, "You could go for a walk."

"A walk?"

Taylor smiles and Gail follows suit. "Yeah, go for a long walk and then go see a movie. Maybe go bowling or get some pizza."

"I don't get it, how is that stupid? It sounds like a lovely day."

I look to Christian and he's smiling, too. "They're all things I'd never consider doing. I don't _do_ those things. It's genius, Taylor."

Christian stands up then helps me to my feet. "What do you say?"

There's a long pause before I muster the courage to speak. "Alright." I take a big gulp of air. "But we should leave the security here."


	22. One Last Time

_Sorry SOOOoooo much you guys for the massive wait for this update. You can all thank ShadoeCoon for the fact that I finally got it up when I did._

_Now, some people are going to be really upset, but whatever. If you want more lemons, please check out my other story, which I've been pouring all my time into, called _"**Three Shades of Fifty**"_, which you can find by clicking on my username... I think so far that story has had at least one lemon (or at least a lemonade?) each chapter. So, yeah. Check it out. I think it's even got a bigger following than this one and I only have six chapters up!_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter 42 - One Last Time**

* * *

I try my best to put everything that's happened out of my mind, but it's proving very difficult. I'm worried about José, I'm beside myself about Ethan, and I am scared shitless of what might happen today.

Christian and I start our day at IHOP down the street from the hospital. He is mesmerized by the laminated, color-photo menus.

"Something seems so familiar about the smell, though I know I've never been to an International House of Pancakes before," he murmurs to no one in particular.

The waitress brought us a carafe of orange juice and nearly a tankard of coffee, which she has had to take back and refill three times so far. What can I say, we're really tired.

It's been a trying twenty-four hours for the both of us. I haven't even gotten into my session with Flynn yesterday yet with Christian. The _delay, delay, delay_ policy is back in full force and that suits me just fine.

My hands and feet are not nearly as tender as they were, but we do have to keep our walking to a minimum where possible. Maybe that's why we've been sitting in this same booth for two hours.

I got the silver dollar pancakes (every food is better in miniature form — sliders, pigs in a blanket, donut holes... I challenge you to propose a single food that's better in large format) and Christian gets a Rooty Tooty Fresh n Fruity. I've _never_ known him to eat so much in a single sitting. He might not have realized what he was getting himself into when he ordered it, but god bless him, he ate everything on his plate.

Our waitress, Bunny, or so her nametag would have us believe, keeps making eyes at Christian. It's all I can do to keep from announcing to the whole place, "he's mine! Back off!" whenever she approaches. Christian doesn't seem to notice, though.

He doesn't particularly seem to notice me, either. He concentrates on eating then looks around the restaurant at the constant stream of college students and elderly patrons then out the window at the unchanging parking lot.

I'm getting more and more annoyed by his indifference towards me. Since we ordered our food, he's barely said three words to me. Yes, today is about hiding out. Yes, we are in danger. But today is also about being together, having fun, a day-long date doing "normal" stuff as a couple. If we can't be normal today, my mind flies right back to worry mode, which, as we've established, I'm trying to avoid.

Besides, if something happens to me today, I want my husband's last memory of me to be a happy one.

After he's managed to stuff the last of his bacon in his mouth, Christian looks up at me.

"I'll go pay the check."

That's it. That's all he says. And then he gets up to head to the cashier.

I'm fuming. After all the crap that's happened in the last day, this is how he treats me? Like he doesn't even know me? I realize I don't look my best, but come on. Where's the comforting? Where's the reassurance? Where's the domineering, bossy, sex-crazed Christian Grey I love? He hasn't tried to touch me once since we left the hospital.

When he comes back, he takes his coat from the bench seat and waits for me to stand, letting his eyes flit about the restaurant once more, never landing on me. Landing anywhere but on me.

Finally, I stand and turn to head back out to the street. Christian follows behind, too far back for my comfort. I like his hand at the small of my back. I like the way he finds opportunities to touch my bare skin whenever possible. None of that is happening. We get to the door, which he opens for me and are then back out on the street.

Oh great. It's starting to rain.

"Well?" I practically yell at him.

"Where to next?" he replies too calmly, too coolly.

"I want to go to the movies. We can catch a matinée of 'In Time'. It has Justin Timberlake." Almost no reaction. "I think he's sexy."

"That's fine. Let me check the showtimes." He smiles lazily and starts walking down the street, smartphone in hand.

Sullenly, I follow after him.

* * *

The movie was good. We had popcorn, jujubees, and soda. Christian barely ate any. He barely watched the movie. He insisted we sit at the back of the theater and I saw that as a sign he might want to fool around, but to my chagrin, he just kept eyeing the door. It was distracting and obnoxious.

So now we're standing in line at the pizza place for a slice and though I keep trying to start a conversation, Christian refuses to take my bate. My ability to keep a positive attitude despite his crappy one is waning. I'm tired and scared and sick of this. I want to go home, take a nap, and screw what might happen to me. Hell, if Jack Hyde takes me at least I'll find out where Ethan is...

We sit down with our food at a table in the back. I blow on my pizza to cool it down.

"It's hot," I say. I look up at Christian, but once again, he's looking anywhere but at me.

I take a deep, calming breath, closing my eyes. _Remember, you want this to be a happy memory for him_, I reassure myself. I can feel the tears pricking my eyes and can barely hold myself together. I exhale slowly through my mouth and open my eyes.

He's staring right at me.

"What's wrong?" he whispers.

Oh man, I could melt right now. All my anger and resentment seeps away, leaving only love. Love and desire. It has been so. damn. long. since we've had sex. Goddammit, I will not meet my maker before I fuck my husband again. I just refuse.

"I'm horny," I whisper back, rubbing my foot against his ankle under the table.

He nearly jumps out of his seat. Clearly he hadn't expected this and... I think he's mad.

"What the fuck, Ana?"

Yep, he's definitely mad.

I put my foot down and can feel all the anger bubbling up again.

"Christian, it's been exactly fifty-eight days since I've fucked my husband. I need you. I need you now." I have my _don't fuck with me_ face on. He has to know that I'm dead serious.

He looks like a lost little boy again. _Shit_.

"We only have to wait until tomorrow, babe."

I shake my head. Should I tell him what this is really about? That I'm scared I won't make it until tomorrow?

"You've been ignoring me all day and I'm sick of it." I stand up. "I'm going to the ladies' room. Meet me there in three minutes," I hesitate. "Or there will be hell to pay."

His eyes widen. I think he likes it when we switch like this, but it usually makes me pretty uncomfortable. I always think of him with Elena, but right now she's the furthest thing from my mind. All I can do is imagine him inside me, filling me completely, making me explode and implode over and over around him.

I walk as calmly as I possibly can towards the restroom, pausing with my hand on the door to catch my breath. I knock quietly and let myself in. It's a single-occupancy handicap-accessible bathroom, which is great. Also great: it's just been cleaned. There's no bad smell, there's no toilet paper on the floor, hell, nothing seems sticky even. Nothing ruins a mood faster than wondering what was last touching the surface your ass is pressed against.

I check my face in the mirror. Sure, I'm a little sub-par, but I think I still look pretty good. I'm suddenly apprehensive about having sex with my husband again. I know it's not something I can forget how to do, but logic has never stopped me from having irrational fears before. I mean, isn't that why they're irrational?

I pinch my cheeks to bring some color into them and turn when I hear the doorknob turn.

Christian walks in and closes the door behind him, locking it.

We stand on opposite sides of the tiny bathroom, staring at each other and I watch a million emotions run over his face. I see indecision and fear flash more than once. I'm fairly certain my expression matches his.

Before I can react, he takes two long strides and is upon me, his mouth on mine, his hands grabbing at my body. I moan before I can catch myself and he pulls away momentarily.

"You must be quiet, Mrs. Grey. You don't want management to discover you _in flagrante_."

My breath hitches as he unbuttons my jeans, holding my eye contact. He makes no move to kiss me, just squeezes my left breast firmly with one hand and opening my zipper with the other.

"No underwear, Mrs. Grey? Somehow I'm not surprised."

His voice is nothing more than a whisper as he slides two fingers into me roughly, staring into my eyes as I moan again, though to my credit, I _am_ quieter.

"Do I need to gag you?"

I nod slowly. I want all of Christian's shades, all fifty of them, all right here and right now. I want to experience everything I love about Christian in one final send-off.

He takes a step back and unbuckles his belt.

_Oh Jesus!_

He folds the thick brown leather in half and says, "Open." I do as I'm told and he shoves the belt into my mouth sideways. "Bite."

Once again he slips his fingers in me. When I moan, barely any noise makes it past the belt and Christian looks satisfied.

"You're always so wet for me. I've waited so long for this."

He pulls my pants to my knees and picks me up by my ass, sitting me on the cold porcelain of the sink.

"I can't wait anymore."

He undoes his pants and pulls his penis out and immediately stuffs it into me. My pants around my calves, I'm held in place as Christian moves into me. My knees by his hips, my feet by his knees, I'm reminded of when he handcuffed me on the boat during our honeymoon.

He grabs my lower back and pulls me forward on the sink, pushing himself deeper into me. I go to lower my head onto his shoulder but he grabs my chin, jerking it up.

"No. I want to watch you."

He slowly pulls out of me until I can just feel the tip of him then slams into me hard, deeper than before. I scream against the leather belt but all that comes out is a soft throaty groan.

"Do you like it when I fuck you like this, Mrs. Grey?"

He repeats the process once more. It's earth-shattering.

"Or do you like it when I fuck you hard like this?"

True to his word, Christian starts pounding into me and if it weren't for his belt, I am sure I'd feel my teeth rattle.

"Or maybe you like when I make love to you like this."

He smoothes out his motions, an unceasing movement, in and out, slower and steadier than before.

I know I'm going to come soon, I can feel it building, but I want this to last forever.

"I never want to stop this, Ana."

My fingernails dig into his shoulder blades. He knows I can't hold out much longer.

He varies his pace, his roughness, over and over, bringing me close and then changing once more. It's frustrating as all hell, but it's exactly what I wanted. He knows me, he knows my body, he knows what I wish for.

He slows to a near-glacial pace.

"Please don't let this is the last time I make love to you, Ana." Tears are streaming down his face. "Don't give up on us."

I reach my hand up and take the belt from my mouth then slowly, gently kiss his tears from his cheeks.

"I love you, Christian."

"I love you, Ana."

He is close, I can tell.

He speeds up and I lose it. I come over and over, neverending, over and over until I have no perception of time, of space, of anything.

But somewhere on the periphery of my mind, I hear him whisper, "Don't leave me, Ana."


	23. Caught

_I know and I'm sorry. It's been, what? four months since I last updated? I'm sorry. That's all I can say._

_I had this chapter half-written for about that long. I just couldn't make myself take the next step that I really knew it needed to take. It was difficult and so I avoided it._

_I hope to be updating more regularly for a while. Writing has gotten fun again and that's a big deal._

_Thanks again everyone for sticking with it and for all the encouragement._

_Meanwhile, if you're craving more, take a look at my other _Fifty Shades_ fic,_ **Three Shades of Fifty**_, and my brand-new _Divergent_ fic, _**Deviant**.

* * *

**Ch. 43**

* * *

There's a loud banging on the door and I jump, which causes Christian to curse, since he's still inside of me.

"This is a family restaurant!" the manager screams from outside the bathroom door.

We lock eyes and I can't help but laugh.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave!"

Christian pulls out of me, picks his pants up from around his ankles and starts getting dressed.

"Jesus," I hear him mutter.

I'm still laughing, my naked butt on the sink, my jeans pulled to my knees. My laughs are becoming uncontrollable now.

"Come on, Ana, get dressed."

He hands me a tissue from the dispenser and I clean myself up before hopping down and pulling my jeans back up. I'm still giggling incessantly though Christian seems to be in a frenzied panic. He's checking his phone, looking to me, checking the lock on the door, looking around the bathroom, but the truth is he has nothing to do, nothing to control.

Finally, I stride right over to the door, unlock it — I hear Christian chide me, "Ana!" — and just walk out. "Excuse me," I say to the manager as I go by. "I'm sorry about that."

I've never really been caught having sex before, but you know what? I'm a married freaking woman. I was having sex with my _husband_. Today is possibly my last day on Earth and I was having sex with my husband. I refuse to feel ashamed.

"Are you coming?" I call behind me. I turn to see Christian trying awkwardly to cover his face as he comes out of the ladies' room, then he slips the manager a few bills. Somehow I'm not shocked.

When he catches up to me and we start to walk towards the exit, I notice every eye in the entire restaurant is on us. Cell phones are out and people are taking pictures, texting their friends... Hell, I'm pretty sure someone is tweeting about it. I'm not on Twitter, but that doesn't mean I don't know what it is.

My sense of bravado fades instantaneously.

"Shit."

Christian puts his hand on the small of my back and all but pushes me out of the restaurant before hailing a cab.

Once we're sitting in the back of our taxi, I realize I'm blushing scarlet. "How embarrassing," I mutter.

"Where to?" the driver asks.

"Just drive North right now," Christian barks at him. I'm about to give him a stern that's-not-really-how-you-should-talk-to-people-Ch ristian look when he turns on me.

"Embarrassing!? Is that all you care about?"

He's furious. At me. But I don't really know what for.

"What?" I shrink into a tiny ball next to him. He's intimidating me no end, but I'll say this: I'm not scared of him right now. Maybe it's the fact that there's a witness.

"Jesus, Ana, you really have no sense sometimes, do you?" He pulls out his phone and hits a couple buttons before holding it to his ear. "Yes, I know we said we wouldn't make contact, but we've been made. We need a fucking _plan_, Taylor. Now."

Then it dawns on me. All those people. They were putting it up for the whole world to see on the internet where we were — The Greys caught with their drawers down at Frank's Pizza #getaroom #bathroomsex #hornycelebs. Hyde is sure to not just know where we are but what our plan is. Of all the stupid things I've done in my life, not being able to keep it in my pants at a family restaurant is definitely racing towards #1.

I zone out on Christian's conversation and scan the streets outside my window. I see black SUVs everywhere I look, but I have to remember, _we_ drive black SUVs. Everyone. Drives. Black. SUVs.

Don't panic.

I begin hyperventilating but am not really sure what to do.

"I didn't... I didn't think that..." I murmur.

Christian snaps at me, "No. You didn't think, Ana. You never think." I can't take him this mad at me. I've put him in danger and I can't deal with him being mad at me. Tears roll down my face. Christian is yelling at Taylor through his phone. I've drowned him out entirely.

Jack Hyde _will_ find us.

We stop at a red light and the panic bubbles up into my throat. Sobs wrack my body as I try to think. He'll find us and he'll kill us. He'll kill us like...

Like he killed my Blip.

My hands clutch at my abdomen. At the empty space where a baby should be. I'd be, what? Three, four months pregnant? I would be starting to show.

I let that man kill my child. Christian's child. No, not a child, but the hope of one. The potential. I will not let him do the same to my husband.

I take one last longing look at Christian. If this doesn't go well, I'll wind up breaking his heart.

Just as the cab begins to move, I open my door and run, slamming it behind me. I run as fast as my feet can carry me the direction we came. I'm going to meet Jack Hyde head-on.

I know Christian is running behind me, but I have quite a head start. I round the corner and panic. If I can't lose him, this plan won't work. The only way to keep him safe is to get away from him.

I turn another corner, not sure where I'm going. There's no way I can outrun him. One more turn and we're in an alleyway with a 10-foot-tall chainlink fence at the end. Maybe I can fit through the hole in the fence — he'd be far to big to follow.

I sprint to the fence and pull the metal back best I can. I squeeze through but the fence springs from my fingers and cuts me deeply across my leg. I cry out but I'm through. Christian slams into the fence and I turn to face him.

"Ana, don't do this," he screams.

I wrap my fingers around his through the grating. "I have to keep you safe, Christian." He starts to protest but I cut him off. "He's going to find me one way or the other. I'd rather have some control over when."

Tears are flowing unchecked down Christian's face. He looks so vulnerable, so hurt, so scared. I want to hold him, but it won't do any good. His eyes shoot up and mine match his. Razor wire tops the fence menacingly. There's no way he could climb over safely.

"Please, Christian, let me go."

But he won't look at me. He starts to climb.

Reluctantly, I turn and jog down the alley to the street. I can see the pizzeria down the block.

When I reach the sidewalk, I hear Christian cry out in pain. I turn immediately to see him struggling through the razor wire. He's only about twenty yards away, but it feels like miles. I walk a few steps toward him, into the shade of the alley again.

"Ana!" he yells.

I can't even speak. "I love you," I mouth.

Then I feel a man behind me, large hands cover my mouth with a rag and I struggle for a moment before everything goes black. Christian's voice echoes in my head.


	24. Captive

_A Warning to Readers: This chapter depicts incredibly graphic and violent situations._

_It had to happen and it had to play out this way. I couldn't see another solution. Really. If I could, I would have. This _has_ to be her most traumatic moment. Everything led up to this. So it has to be horrible._

_If you are really worried or really squeamish, you should just go ahead and skip this chapter. The things that happen now will be summarized generally in the next chapter, but I don't want to spoil this chapter right now for people that will read it by telling you what happens just so you can choose whether or not to read it._

_Know this: __**the worst does not happen.**_

_Thanks to Mylisa for the beautiful review, it gave me the little push I needed to finish this super-difficult chapter. I hope this is sufficient for this week. I know it was quite a cliffhanger last time. Hopefully you'll be able to sleep soundly tonight._

_Thanks again for reading. If you're looking for lighter, happier, more sex-crazed hotness, try my other Fifty Fic, _Three Shades of Fifty_. Enjoy!_

* * *

**Ch 44**

* * *

I open my eyes and try to stretch, but I'm tied to the chair I'm sitting in. My head swims. I'm getting aroused pulling against the restraints but then I remember hands wrapping around me and Christian screaming my name. I don't remember anything after that.

I look around. I'm in a huge room. No, it's a warehouse. There's old industrial equipment in the corners — it's been abandoned for some time.

Well, that's not quite accurate. There are two other chairs I can see — I don't know about behind me, my head is strapped to my chair so I can't easily turn around to see over my shoulder — one is empty and the other has a crumpled, broken body in it.

I am officially panicking.

"Hello?" I call quietly. The man is about three yards from me. I know Jack Hyde must be around somewhere and I don't want to draw his attention, but I _have_ to know that whoever this is will be alright. Maybe it's Ethan. I shudder.

"Ethan? It's me, Ana. Wake up." I know tears are streaming down my face but I don't care. Things have never been so dire as they are right now. _Just be okay_.

"Ethan!" I urge quietly.

He stirs. I exhale the breath I didn't realize I was holding. The fear that he might be dead had been pressing on my chest since last night.

"Ana?"

It's not Ethan.

The panic grips me again, choking me.

"John?" I ask hesitantly. What is John Flynn doing here?

He's starting to sit up a bit straighter, hissing from the aches and pains it is sure to be waking. "Ana," he says. There's such a deep sadness in his voice. "I was hoping he wouldn't get you. Are you hurt?"

I evaluate myself quickly. Other than a swimming head, I feel fine. Actually, I feel pretty drunk. I have a cut on the back of my hand, but I'm largely unhurt. "I'm okay. I think he drugged me, though." I see his body relax slightly and he raises his head to look around. "Have you seen Ethan?" I ask.

There's a long moment before he responds. "Yes." John turns his head to face me. He's completely covered in bruises and blood. His nose is broken. "He's in the corner behind you, but I haven't seen him move in two hours."

I'm hyperventilating again. This can't be happening.

"Ana, I don't think he's dead," John says. "But I don't know how long he'll last if he doesn't get to a hospital."

I am pathetic. I should have fought harder. If my aim had been truer last time, Jack Hyde would be behind bars. Or dead. None of this would have happened. José would have legs, Dr. Flynn wouldn't have been beaten to a pulp, Ethan's life wouldn't be slipping away, Elizabeth would be alive, and I would be with my husband. With our baby.

Tears are freely flowing down my cheeks. I'm practically sobbing when I hear a door slam shut far behind me. I fall completely silent. All I can hear is my breathing and heavy footsteps.

"He still not up?" I hear Hyde's voice. John shakes his head no.

"He needs a doctor."

"You're a doctor. Fix him." He's standing right behind me now. I want to scream but can't find my voice.

"I'm not that kind of doctor and you know that."

In three long strides, Hyde is right above John and gives him a quick backhand to the face. John spits blood.

"Don't you smart mouth me, Shithead!"

I whimper in my chair. He turns on me and I see the face of my nightmares.

"Mrs. Christian Grey, it has been a while," he drawls, smirking as he saunters towards me. I struggle uselessly against the ropes tying me down. I can't move an inch. He leans over me, supporting himself with his hands on the tops of my thighs, and whispers in my ear, "Miss me?"

"Fuck you," is all I can manage to get out.

"Oh, I'd love to," he mumbles, sliding one hand between my thighs, running his hand north. I scream, but can't get away.

"Hyde!" I hear John yell, but it does no good. We are completely bound.

"Last time I tried this, you played hard to get, but I knew you were hot for me." He sneers at me as I cry out, his hand down my jeans, pulling on my panties. "This time I thought I'd tie you up just how you like. See, you're already wet for me."

My head feels like it's underwater and I know I'm starting to blackout. I struggle as hard as I can but it's hopeless. Jack Hyde is going to rape me while my therapist watches and there's nothing either of us can do about it.

I feel his fingers playing with me and his breathing becomes ragged. He grabs at my breast with his other hand, clawing and pawing painfully. Finally he leans in to kiss me on the mouth, shoving both his tongue and his fingers into me at the same time. I scream into his mouth then gather my senses for just long enough.

He staggers backwards, nearly tripping over John, screaming incomprehensibly.

And then I spit out a chunk of his tongue.

"You fucking cunt!" he manages to yell, lunging at me. He begins punching my face until I feel something under my eye give way and then I really do black out.

* * *

I come to I'm guessing about an hour later. One half of my face feels like it's nearly caving in and I can smell fresh blood deep inside my nose. I blink several times, but my vision won't clear. Everything is slightly blurry.

"Ana?" I hear John Flynn call to me quietly, desperately.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here John."

"Oh, Jesus, thank god," he says. "I thought he'd killed you. I thought he was going to..."

I feel the tears coming, incredibly painfully. "Did he," I mutter. "Did... Did he rape me?" I finally manage.

"No," John says with a relieved sigh. "He didn't go near you again after the tongue." I can hear him smile slightly. "Remind me not to fuck with you, Ana."

I shudder imagining what could have happened. _No, it does no one any good to worry about what could have happened_, I tell myself. We have to come up with a plan.

"How can we get out of here, John?"

He lowers his voice further and I can barely see him glancing around, checking to see if anyone is listening. "Christian had a tracking chip implanted on you while you were in a coma back in September," he whispers, but then he quickly follows it up. "He feels guilty about not telling you all this time."

I have a glimmer of hope, but that's all it is, a glimmer. Then it's gone. Completely.

"John, was it on the back of my left hand?"

"How did you know?"

"I had a deep cut there when I woke up earlier. The chip was removed. Hyde must have known about it."

Just then, I hear him walking toward me again. "Yep, no knight in shining armor coming to the rescue this time, Whore. He's probably halfway to Portland by now, following that chip signal. He'll only find it stuck under the seat of a charter bus." He laughs cruelly right behind me, then presses his thumb against my already broken cheek bone. I scream in pain, nearly passing out again. "By the time he finds you and Ethan and the good doctor here dead, I'll be on my own private island enjoying his misery from afar."

"Why are you doing this," John asks.

"Everything he has should have been mine, so I'm going to take it all back. If I can't have it, neither of us can." He steps in front of me and holds up a long knife. The tip presses painfully up under my chin. "I should take all your teeth for what you did to me, Cunt." He stretches his tongue out toward me, distorted and maimed, then licks my face. I gag.

"But I'd prefer to fuck you while you're whole. I'm just going to wait until you can't fight back anymore. Then I'll let John here fuck your corpse, too. I can tell that he wants you." He swings around next to me and holds my face against him, pointing at John with the knife. "But you're such a tease you probably kneed him in the balls, too. Maybe I'll cut off his dick and leave it in your pussy for Grey to find."

John and I are both crying now but Hyde just keeps laughing. "I'd really like Ethan to fuck you in the ass, too, but he just won't seem to cooperate and wake the fuck up. So I guess I'll just have to do it." The noise of Hyde's laughing and our cries of horror almost completely mask the quiet creeping of someone behind us.

I know Christian's there and he is trying to surprise Hyde, so I just scream and cry louder trying to mask the noise. John clearly sees who it is, but can't give anything away. I try to tell him with my eyes to create a distraction.

"Can't I fuck her alive, Hyde?" he yells. "I mean, if you're going to cut off my dick, at least let me get to fuck one last live woman, will you?"

Hyde laughs and seems to consider this. "She'll bite off your tongue," he screams back, laughing hysterically. "Alive does seem better, though, doesn't it? She's so deliciously responsive," he says, squeezing my breast. "Look, those little nipples are hard already!" He rips open my shirt, pulling my bra cup down under my breast, exposing it to John to the sounds of my screams. I blush crimson with shame.

_Hurry up, Christian!_ I urge silently.

"I bet her pussy's wet, too," he says, panting. He claws at the button and fly on my jeans from above my shoulder. "I bet you want to see, hey, Doc?"

He uses his knife to cut the fly then just rips the jeans open at the crotch. My black lace panties are so thin and so tiny that I might as well not be wearing anything at all.

I scream one last time, as loud as I can and I hear the last few footsteps come heavier than before, running.

_Clunk_.

Jack Hyde hits the floor beside me and I cry out in relief.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," I sob over and over again. Christian has saved me. My husband found us and saved us all.

The ropes which had been digging into my skin for hours are finally loosened and I turn to embrace my husband, my savior to find a barely conscious Ethan holding a two-by-four instead. I look around. Christian must be somewhere. But he's nowhere.

Jack Hyde stirs, moaning incoherently and I nearly jump out of my skin. Ethan raises the two-by-four over his head and brings it down like an axe on Hyde's head three times. There's a sickening crunch on the second swing.

Ethan saved me. Ethan saved us all.


End file.
